


Till The Lights Go Down

by usasarah



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Dick Grayson, Alpha Jason Todd, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Batfamily (DCU), Beta Tim Drake, Bruce Needs a Hug, Bruce is trying, Hurt Bruce Wayne, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Kidnapping, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Bruce Wayne, Omega Verse, Protective Dick Grayson, Protective Jason Todd, Protective Tim Drake, Sick Bruce Wayne, This is going to be messed up, Tim Drake is Robin, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-01-26 13:43:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 47,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21375079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usasarah/pseuds/usasarah
Summary: Bruce is struggling. It takes the worst to slowly mend his broken pack.[Hiatus]
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake/Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake/Dick Grayson, Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Comments: 349
Kudos: 919





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. This is my first fic ever even though I've been writing them in my head forever. Enjoy. (Unedited).

The Manor is empty, a kind of emptiness that’s oppressive, heavy, _suffocating_. Bruce Wayne sits in the kitchen, eyes gazing unfocused on a cup of coffee that’s long turn cold, and wonders how things ended up like this. Dick, Jason, and now even young Tim are gone, slipped from his fingers. It’s only him and Alfred, and it’s been close to an hour since his butler had taken off to run some errands. It’s just him.

It’s his fault. His crippling loneliness is the product of his failure, his inability to hold on to, to protect, and to _care_ for those closest too him. Dick left him after barely turning seventeen, fleeing to Jump City, creating the Titans, and eventually shedding the mantle of Robin. All his fault. Bruce knew he was stifling and demanded too much of the Boy Wonder to the point that Dick was begging, pleading for independence. He remembers that night all those years ago, the last night Batman and his first Robin were together on patrol. The wind was howling across the rooftops of Gotham as Robin screamed angrily at Batman, and he just stood there, taking it and not saying a word. He vividly remembers the sting of pain as Robin ripped off his mask and his “R” patch, hurling them at Batman before hurling and flipping himself off the rooftop and out of Bruce’s life.

He was even worse with Jason—cold and distant—when the boy from the streets craved so obviously the attention and affection of anyone, but particularly of Bruce. Jason was violent, brash, and wild, and clashed often with Bruce. The dominance that Jason carried as an alpha was potent and loud in contrast with Dick whose dominance was softly demanded and expected. Still recovering from the loss of Dick, Bruce pushed him away when he should have held him close. And then Jason had died. His fault again, his biggest failure as both Batman and a guardian (if he could even call himself that). And then Jason was _back_ someway and somehow but as Red Hood. Bruce couldn’t even rejoice the apparent resurrection of his son because Jason hated him, wanted nothing to do with him, and made it known.

And finally there was Tim. The soft-spoken, genius beta became his third Robin, and Bruce was determined not to be a _fuck up_ for once in his life, and not only train this boy to the best of his ability but to care for him, but Tim was drifting away too, spending more and more time in Bludhaven with Dick and Jason, Nightwing and Red Hood. The worst part was that Bruce didn’t even know why. He didn’t know where he went wrong, but the occasional day Tim went to visit his brothers turned into days at a time to weeks at a time.

So here he was. A failure of a guardian. A failure of a hero he supposedly was trying to be. And a failure of an omega, almost pack less and starving for the bonds he once held with his sons—or his wards as he probably should call them. Bruce blinked, lifted the coffee mug to his mouth, and took a long sip of the bitter and cold drink. His hand twitched, aching to call Alfred and ask him to hurry back to the Manor—the errands be damned. It was getting darker outside, and the darkness only did worse for Bruce’s thoughts. 


	2. You keep me up at night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Justice League is concerned. Tim makes a visit. Bruce feels guilty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited so please excuse typos. Get ready for some nesting and some guilt!!! Btw, rating might change. Not sure if this will be mature or explicit. Comment what you want to see next. I am making this up as a go along, but if there is something you guys want to see, I may be able to make that work.

“Batman,” Diana’s voice cuts through, startling Bruce out of his thoughts. He looks around the round table at the other members of the League, Superman, Aquaman, Flash, Martian Manhunter, and Green Lantern, all who looked at him expectedly. He had been consumed in his thoughts again and obviously missed something important.

Bruce clears his throat from beneath the cowl, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “My apologies.”

From his peripheral, he sees Wally smirk. “I wonder what you were thinking about, Bat —”

“We were just discussing,” Diana cuts back in, “our next course of action in response to the numerous to the numerous high profile omegas going missing in the past months. A few have shown up dead recently, and the circumstances of their death hint that something extraterrestrial might be at play.”

“What makes you suggest that, Wonder Woman?” Superman asks, brows furrowed.

Batman’s hand nervously fidgeted underneath the table. He knows realistically that the knowledge of his dynamic was carefully concealed under scent blockers, scent neutralization patches, and suppressants, but Diana suddenly mentioning omegas to him had him blinking in surprise. To anyone and to everyone, he smells nothing more than the scent of his soap and daily cologne, both as Batman and as Bruce Wayne. Apart from Aquaman and Wonder Woman, the rest of the League also neutralized their scent to better conceal their identities from the rest of the world. Bruce zoned back onto the conversation.

Diana’s voice turned serious and solemn. “I have been in contact with multiple sources, and the bodies found are almost unrecognizable. If it’s not something extraterrestrial, whatever is killing these omegas is not human.”

“And these omegas? What makes them high profile?”

“Either ties to royalty or nobility or in many cases lots of money or fame. All around the world: Bucharest, Nice, Stuggart, Shanghai, and Rio to name a few.”

Bruce finally spoke up, desperate to get this meeting done, jump into a Javelin, and head back to the Manor, where it was safe. _God, why was he so on edge?_ “We’ll need autopsy reports and lab results from one of the deceased, if not multiple. Diana, could you send me all the information you have on the all the victims?”

“Yes, of course. Batman—”

“If that is all, I must leave.” Bruce hastily stands up and makes his way towards the exit, his cape billowing behind him. He hears Diana sigh in disappointment as the door quickly shut close.

Bruce hustles down towards the hangar bay. He doesn’t make it too far when he hears the deep rumble of Clark’s voice close behind him. “Bruce, stop.”

It wasn’t spoken like an order, and from Superman’s perspective Batman and Bruce Wayne is an alpha or perhaps even a beta. Bruce knows Clark isn’t trying to order him, an omega, but he throws a glare over his shoulder still, slowing his step but not stopping. Clark easily catches up.

“Are you- are you,” Clark stumbles, something like concern laced in his voice.

“What,” Bruce snaps, not in the mood to play guessing games. He needed to get back to the Manor, to the Bat Cave or his bedroom. Yes, the Manor was lonely, but the Watchtower, orbiting in dark and cold space, was even more lonesome. He wanted to curl up in his nest and sleep. _Wow, was he stress nesting?_

“We’re concerned, Bruce. About you. You’ve been off.” Clark’s voice was soft, and he was giving Bruce that look, pretty blue eyes shining with _pity_.

“We?”

Clark huffed. “Diana and I, but I think most of the League has noticed something off.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Talking behind me back now?”

Suddenly, Clark was grabbing Bruce’s elbow, forcing Bruce to stop. Bruce violently shook him off, a snarl almost ripping from his throat. “Don’t touch me,” Bruce warned, his voice dropping an octave.

“Stop avoiding my question!”

“You haven’t ask me anything.”

“Are you okay?” The Man of Steel’s eyes were soft. It made Bruce’s stomach twist uncomfortably.

“I’m fine. Now leave me alone.”

Bruce turned on his heel sharply, continuing towards the hangar bay. Thankfully, Clark didn’t follow.

\---

When Bruce arrives back at the Manor hours later, he is surprised to hear Alfred’s voice flitting through the expansive house. Bruce follows the sound to the kitchen where he is even more surprised to find Tim sitting at the granite countertop, elbows propped on the table and chin resting gently in the palm of his hand. The Beta has a wide, goofy smile splayed across his face, and Bruce’s heart jumps in his chest at the sight of his Robin so carefree and happy.

Bruce walks slowly into the kitchen, the conservation halting awkwardly. “Master Bruce, would you care for dinner?” Alfred asks. Bruce eyes the servings of meat and steaming vegetables before him, a plate already prepared and sitting before Tim. _Were they waiting for him?_

Tim eyes him curiously, head tilted to the side as he regards the omega. Bruce felt his skin prickle at the sight of Tim’s deep brown eyes so intently focused on him. Tim had grown up fast since Bruce had first adopted him when he was barely thirteen. Now eighteen, his Robin was now a grown adult, tall, muscular but still so lithe, and incredibly handsome. Bruce turns his attention back to Alfred, shaking his head.

“Thank you, Alfred, but I have eaten already,” he lies, a second from turning on his heel to stalk back towards the Bat Cave, where he could curl up safely in his nest that laid there.

“Would you still sit with me at least, Bruce?” Tim inquires, eyes still calculating and analyzing.

Bruce doesn’t even try to think of an excuse, nodding and quietly slipping into the chair besides Tim. A month. It had almost been a month since Bruce last saw Tim, sat down with him and ate dinner with him. He craves to just lean over and rub his cheek against his beta to reinforce the pack bond between them that had been dwindling and weakening. Omegas were more sensitive to pack bonds and needed more reassurance, but Bruce had no idea to ask for that reassurance without looking weak. So he doesn’t.

“What brings you back to Gotham?” Bruce asks hesitantly.

Tim laughs, a light and airy laugh that pulls at Bruce’s heart strings. He misses that sound. “I live here, don’t I?” the beta jokes as he begins to shovel Alfred’s delicious cooked meal into his mouth. Bruce’s eyes are immediately drawn to Tim’s pink lips. His mouth goes dry.

“You could have fooled me,” Bruce responds, attempting to joke back, but his voice just sounds strained and hurt. He cringes.

Tim’s smile does not waver. “Okay, okay. If you want the truth, I got into a _little_ argument with Jason and Dick. I decided I needed to take a breath away from them if you know what I mean.”

Bruce’s heart clenches at the mention of his first and second Robin. It’s been even longer since those two have come to visit the Manor and him. Dick has called him sparingly, but always on manners related to business.

“What do you mean by little?” Bruce asks even though he really wants to ask how the two are doing.

Tim waves his hands. “You wouldn’t want to hear about it. It’s stupid, but I was hoping we could get back into the swing of things if you know what I mean. Batman and Robin back at it again in the streets of Gotham.” His voice is bright and hopeful. Bruce melts and gives him a small smile.

“I would like that.”

\---

Later that evening after catching up with Tim, Bruce finally retires to his nest, a small room tucked away towards the back of the Bat Cave. Secluded. Warm. Safe.

He curls into himself into the small cot, surrounded by dozens of pillows, blankets, and items of clothing from his “pack.” Dick and Jason had left some shirts and jackets behind that Bruce had guiltily added to his nest, but the scents have long gone from them. He scavenges through his nest until he finds one of Tim’s shirts that had been left in the laundry, unwashed and smelling strong of the beta, like the ocean and lavender. Soothing.

He buries his face into it and his mind is consumed of thoughts of his Robin: training together, fighting together, laughing together, living together. His body flushes with heat as he thinks more about the beta. About his soft, dark, curling hair, his deep eyes, his strong shoulders, and those lips. _God, those lips. _So pink and warm. He imagines those lips on his neck as Bruce bears his neck to him in submission. He tosses and turns as he feels his underwear start to dampen and his cock stiffen. He wants to—needs to touch himself, but he doesn’t. It’s a line he won’t and can’t cross if he is thinking about his ward. It’s wrong.

Bruce whimpers and keens as he feels slick start to slide down the back of his thighs. He turns on his back, the friction of the cot against his cock becoming too much. He tosses the shirt away, clenches his eyes shut, wills those images of Tim away, and forces himself to sleep.

He doesn’t.


	3. Best of the Best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason is worried. Dick reassures him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little more background until things get dark. Enjoy and don’t forget to comment :). Unedited.

Dick loves kissing Jason. It’s one of his favorite things. Jason is wild and violent and kisses exactly like that. He loses his breath every time those warm, plump lips meet his own. Like now, for example.

Jason presses him against the back of an abandoned warehouse. They’re supposed to be on patrol, but Dick couldn’t resist him, and needed to feel that warm, hot mouth on himself. Jason licks into his mouth, and Dick signs in pleasure, letting him inside. It’s rough, all tongues, teeth, and salvia. Dick slides a hand into Jason’s chestnut hair, gripping onto the thick locks before  _yanking_ down, pressing their lips even harder against each other until he’s sure they’ll both bruise. 

He feels the growl bubbling inside Jason’s throat, and he can’t stop the smile that spreads across his face. Jason breaks away, green eyes dark and pupils dilated as he stares down at Dick.

“Shit, Gray. You fucking drive me nuts,” he whispers right against Dick’s lips. His breaths smells like ash and smoke, but Dick can’t bring himself to care. 

Dick arches up, pressing his chest flush against Jason’s own and smirks. He brushes his lips against the shell of Jason’s ear, dropping his voice down just a pitch. “Kiss me again,” he says.

Jason obliges, attacking Dick’s neck, nipping, sucking, and biting. Dick melts, a soft moan tumbling from his lips as he grinds his hips against Jason. The other alpha bucks against him, hands sliding from Dick’s waist to grip painfully at his hips.

Dick chuckles. “What’s gotten into you, little wing. You seem more worked up than usual.” It‘s supposed to be lighthearted and teasing, but the way Jason briefly tenses against him, Dick instantly knows something is not right. 

He pushes against Jason’s broad chest, worry spiking when his replacement refuses to meet his eyes. “Jay, what’s wrong?”

Jason’s head is turned away, and Dick can see the clench of his jaw and practically hear the grind of his teeth. Dick’s expression softens. “Is this about Tim?”

The prolonged silence is all the answer Dick needs. He cups Jason’s cheek and offers a reassuring smile. “He’ll be back soon, you know? He’s just shocked is all, which is understandable.”

Jason runs an angry hand down his face, taking a step away from Dick, away from his touch. Dick’s hand falls limply to his side. He finally meets Dick’s eyes, an unreadable expression marring his features.

“How do you know?” Jason asks, voice uncharacteristically soft and hesitant. Dick shrugs.

“It’s Tim,” he says merely.

Jason shakes his head, frustrated. “No, no. How do you know, Dick? You saw his face. That didn’t look like a face that plans on coming back anytime soon.”

“He was shocked, Jay. He’ll register it soon and process it soon. Then we can talk about it, and he’ll be back.”

“He walked in on us fucking, Dick. He wasn’t shocked. He was disgusted!” Jason explodes.

Dick doesn’t respond immediately. Eyes wide and mouth slightly agape, he stares at Jason in wonder. Jason who is breathing heavily, fists clenched and cheeks so flushed that he can tell in dim light. 

“First,” Dick begins slowly. “We weren’t fucking. We were making out. Our clothes were still on.”

“As if that hardly matters,” Jason grumbles.

“Second,” Dick says, voice rising and taking a step towards Jason. “Do you honestly think he’s disgusted, Jay? You think he would think that way? About us?We’re not really brothers, and Tim knows that.” 

“We’re both alphas, Dick,” Jason says matter of factly. His eyes twitch as if he’s uncomfortable admitting that fact.

Dick laughs for real this time. “You think Tim is grossed out by the fact that we also like the same dynamic?”

Jason hesitates. “Yes.”

Dick closes the distance between them, grabbing Jason by his shoulders and giving him a slight shake. “Don’t be stupid. I know you know that Tim is smarter than that. He’s not some bigot.”

Jason huffs, calming down slightly. “Yeah, I know, but...his face though. He looked so betrayed or something. I can’t even describe it.”

“He’s probably upset we didn’t tell him. He did have to find out on his own.”

A small smile finally works it way on Jason’s lips. “I hate that you’re always so rational.”

Dick pushes himself on his tip-toes, pressing a chaste to Jason’s swollen lips. “That’s why you love me.” Jason’s smile widens more.

“And there’s no need to worry. He’s with Bruce in Gotham.”

Jason’s smile disappears as quickly as it came. “I don’t know why you told me that. That gives me all the reason to worry.”

Dick slaps his chest. “It’s good that Tim has a reasonably good relationship with Bruce. He deserves a figure like that in his life.”

“And we didn’t?” Jason throws back.

Dick’s breath catches in his throat. He doesn’t have a response for that. “He’s trying,” Dick says softly. 

Jason gives him a quizzical look. “You’re the one to say that? He’s been reaching out to you the most, and you shut him down almost every time.”

“I’m  _trying_ too. That’s more than you.”

Jason shrugs, waltzing over to his discarded red helmet where Dick had thrown it earlier in a fit of passion. “Let’s go. I’m done talking about the Bat.”

—-

“Let me,” Bruce says gently, leading Tim towards the nearest seat in the Batcave, situated in front of dozens of screen displays with numerous case files pulled up on them. 

Tim presses a warm cloth to the wound above his brow and chuckles. “Bruce, it’s fine. The crook got a lucky shot, but it’s not that bad.”

Bruce tosses his cowl to the side, before rummaging through some cabinets in search of the suture kit. They were both still clad in their respective Batman and Robin uniforms, freshly back from patrol and busting a drug ring that had been smuggling new illicit and dangerous drugs into Gotham. The smugglers had been ill trained and easy to take down, but there were a few dozen of them, and Tim had been slightly overwhelmed, allowing one of them to get a good swipe at him.

He hadn’t even noticed until the fight was over and he realized he had been seeing red the entire time. Not because of the cloud of anger but because apparently wounds to the face bleed a lot. Tim could even till behind the mask that Bruce had been horrified before Tim quickly reassured him that he was fine.

Now back at the Batcave, Bruce didn’t appear any less concerned. “It’s a small cut, Bruce,” he says softly, attempting to soothe the nervous omega. 

“It’s still deep, Tim,” Bruce grumbles, stepping away from the cabinets and back over to Tim, suture kit and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide in hand. He kneels before Tim, and Tim’s mouth goes dry at the overtly submissive pose.  _God, Bruce probably doesn’t even realize._ Omegas don’t naturally submit betas, it’s something that is usually saved for alphas. Bruce doesn’t even naturally submit to  anyone.  The dozens of girls of all dynamics that hang off Bruce’s arms at galas, charity events, parties, and on the covers of hundreds of magazines have all been apart of carefully constructed facade of a playboy billionaire. 

Tim doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even know if he could. It feels like his brain is short circuiting. Bruce takes the cloth from Tim, dabbing at the wound with cotton balls and hydrogen peroxide. He flips open the suture kit, taking out the suture needles, thread, and scissors. Bruce works with practiced efficiency, threading the cleaned wound with expediency and accuracy. After he’s all stitched up, Bruce still dabs at the threaded wound, cleaning his forehead of all the dried blood.

Tim grabs Bruce’s wrist, and he instantly stills.  _I’m fine, now._ The words die on Tim’s lip as he looks at Bruce, really looks. From close up, Tim can see how gaunt the omega’s face has become. His cheeks are hollow and sunken in, the skin under his eyes an ugly purple, and skin a sickly yellow. Bruce always looks stressed, but now he looks just sick.  _How did this happen in a month? Or was the happening sooner, and Tim just didn’t notice?_

He’s about to ask Bruce what’s wrong, but he stops himself, knowing the Bruce will just give him some evasive answer, so he says the next thing that comes to mind.

“Dick and Jason are together,” he blurts before he can think twice.

Bruce blinks slowly, caught off guard by the random outburst. “Shit, I’m sorry. I don’t know why—“

“I know,” Bruce says simply, gently removing his wrist from Tim’s grip. 

“What?!” Tim gasps, standing up suddenly, chair flying back. “How the  fuck am I the last to know?”

Bruce clears his throat, gracefully rising to his feet. He opens his mouth, but Tim speaks again before he can.

“And how do  you know, Bruce? Jason and Dick don’t even talk to you.”  _Shit, where did his filter go?_

Bruce appears unfazed. “They didn’t tell me, Tim. I just knew. I could tell from the start that there were feelings there.”

“Oh,” Tim says dumbly.

There’s a pregnant pause. “Is that why you left? Are you upset that they are together?”

Tim groans. “No, no. I don’t care that they are together. It’s just...” Tim trails.

_I wish they were with me, too. _

“I just wish they told me. I thought we were closer than keeping secrets from each other.”

Bruce gives him a small, sad smile. “They probably didn’t know how to tell you. They must have been scared on how you would react.”

Tim blinks. He hadn’t thought of that. Him abruptly leaving probably hurt them. He didn’t even utter one word before packing up his bags and racing back to Gotham. Tim scratches the back of his head. 

“I should probably talk to them, huh?”

Tim cannot really describe the expression that briefly passes over Bruce’s faces besides  panic . Tim is briefly confused before Bruce quickly schools his features into one of indifference.

“That would be good, but I think that can wait until the morning. You should wash up and sleep. It’s been a long night.”

For the second time that night, Tim wants to ask Bruce if he’s okay. More than anything, he wants to hold Bruce in his arms and feel his heart beat against his own. Before, he could act on those desires, Bruce is turning around and stalking towards the back of the cave, and out sight.

“Goodnight,” Tim says to no one. 


	4. Worst of the Worst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim has his talk with Jason and Dick. Bruce is in trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love hurting Bruce, mentally and physically. Oops. Warnings for violence and kidnapping. I had a three-day weekend, so that's why I was popping these chapters out like popcorn, but in reality, I am a pretty busy gal, but I'll try to post in a week-2 week period. Enjoy! and UNEDITED so please excuse the typos

_Loss of appetite. Trouble falling asleep. Anxiety. Difficulty concentrating. _

Those are Bruce’s symptoms, and they are worsening, gradually but noticeably. Busting the drug ring last night was more difficult than it should have been, his limbs had felt heavy, his reaction time was slower, and his concentration was obviously compromised to the point that he hadn’t noticed that Tim was practically surrounded and needed assistance. After the last smuggler had fallen, Bruce had been horrified to see Tim’s face drenched in blood. His fault, again.

His symptoms could point to a myriad of things. Difficulty concentrating and anxiety could mean a concussion. Loss of appetite could point to a weakened immune system so possibly the early stages of the flu? Trouble falling asleep could indicate insomnia. It could be anything, and Bruce would hate to self-diagnose himself, but he really didn’t want go to a doctor or worst a therapist.

But who was Bruce fooling? He was an omega, and all of his symptoms suggest bond starvation. Bruce runs a trembling hand through his hair as he reads the causes and prognosis of the ailment, lips pulled into a thin line.

_Bond starvation refers to the decrease of hormones in an omega who is experiencing or has experienced weakened pack or mate bonds. Weakened pack or mate bonds can be caused by death in a pack or family, violence or tension in the household, or prolonged long distance between the omega and other members of the pack. Bond starvation alone is not fatal, but has correlation to an increased rate of suicidal ideation and suicidal thoughts in omegas who do not receive help._

Bruce signs, leaning back in his chair in the Batcave and crossing his arms of his chest, as he process the information. The good news is that he hasn’t been having any suicidal tendencies, so he must be in the early stages. Even better, Tim is back and no matter how much it hurt Bruce’s ego, he would try to reform their fraying bond. Tim would be accompanying him to a gala tonight in downtown Gotham, and even though Bruce hated entertaining Gotham elite, it was a good opportunity to get closer to his beta. 

Bruce hates that his dynamic biologically relies so heavily on the other dynamics. Through this own blood and sweat and in the wake of his parents’ murder, Bruce has carved a place for himself in Gotham, both as Bruce Wayne, the billionaire CEO of Wayne Enterprises, and Batman, the nighttime vigilante and founding member of the Justice League. Now, his biggest barrier is that fact that he’s suffering from bond starvation because of his lack of interaction and touch with an alpha or beta. 

Bruce checks his watch and curses. They should be leaving soon. He closes out the all the tabs related to bond starvation and omega health on the Batcomputer display screens. He would read up on it more when he had the time. Just as he was about to grab his suit jacket and make his way upstairs, the sound of his name cuts through the silence. 

“Bruce,” he hears Tim call. Bruce does his best not to appear startled. He notes that his situational awareness has decreased as well with his concentration and focus. Tim should not be able to sneak up on him, especially when he wasn’t even trying.

“Sorry, Tim. I’ll be ready in one—” he trails off as he turns around and registers that Tim is simply clad in a pair of jeans and t-shirt, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder. Bruce raises an eyebrow.

“Where are you going? We have that gala in less than an hour, and you’re not even changed,” Bruce asks. Tim looks everywhere but his eyes as he shifts his weight uneasily from side to side.

Tim clears his throat. “I’m catching a bus back to Blüdhaven tonight. I need to talk to Jason and Dick.”

Bruce suddenly goes cold, and he feels his heart drop in his stomach. He doesn’t let it show on his face however, retaining a neutral expression. 

“Don’t you think it’s best that you guys give each other a little room to breathe? It’s only been two days. Maybe you should call them first,” Bruce suggests, gripping the back of the chair so the beta won’t notice his trembling hand. _He just got him back; he can’t leave now._

“This is something I should do face to face. And the longer I wait, I think the worse things will get.”

“I can arrange a ride for you tomorrow morning if you want?” Bruce reasons before attempting to sound lighthearted. “We have that gala tonight, and I’d hate to go without a date.” His laugh is weak and discordant. 

Tim doesn’t even crack a smile. “I’m leaving now, Bruce. I’ll call you when I get there.” There’s a pause as the two just stare at one another. There’s a look in Tim’s eyes that’s all too familiar; it’s the same look that was in Dick’s eyes all those years ago on that rooftop. A look that says that he won’t be coming back. But Bruce won’t just stand there and take it this time.

“No.”

Tim raises an eyebrow, tilting his head in way that tells Bruce that he’s calculating and analyzing the situation. 

“No?” Tim echoes.

“No,” Bruce reiterates. “You can’t.” 

Another painful silences elapses between the two before Tim finally responds. “And why can’t I, Bruce?” Tim’s voice is low, not its usual chipper pitch. The only indication that Tim is angry. Bruce swallows, praying he words this right.

“You said it yourself. Batman needs a Robin. We’re a team.”

Bruce thinks about his life five years ago when he thought Jason was dead, when Dick and him were the most distant, and he really thought the loneliness was going to eat him alive. Then came along Tim Drake, bright, young, and so smart. Tim was a literal shining light in the darkness that had consumed him at the time. _Batman needs a Robin_. That’s what the thirteen year old beta had told Batman, and he was right. 

In truth, Bruce needs Tim. He hadn’t felt this lost since five years ago. He can’t lose him. 

Tim’s eyes soften, and for a glorious moment, Bruce is sure that Tim will drop the bag and things can go back to business as usual. 

“I’m sorry, Bruce,” he says. Bruce bites the inside of his cheek. “Jason and Dick need me too. I can’t leave family behind.”

Tim turns and leaves. 

—-

It’s a Friday night, so that means it’s pizza night at Dick’s apartment. The two alphas were sprawled across the couch, limbs tangled up and munching on some good-ole, greasy, cheese pizza from the local pizza diner. The lights were off as the watched in content and comfortable silence _Good Will Hunting_. 

Jason hummed in delight as Dick ran his fingers through his hair. Dick had been right. He had been worked up lately, and he was insanely grateful that Dick was able to calm and soothe his chaotic thoughts. _Tim would be back soon_. He just had to be patient. Give the kid at least a week, and if they haven’t heard anything then they would reach out.

Jason was just about to grab another slice when there was a knock on the door. They both still.

“You expecting anyone, Gray?” Jason asks hesitantly.

Dick shakes his head. “No, I’m not—“

Jason practically falls of the couch when there’s a second knock more persistent this time. He rushes to the door and flings it open, relief seeking into his bones when he sees Tim standing there, fluffy black hair, big brown eyes, and duffle bag at his side. Tim scratches the back of his head awkwardly. “Jay, look. I’m sorry—“

He doesn’t allow the beta to say one more word before he’s pulling the boy into a bone-crushing hug. Tim drops his bag and wraps his arms around the older alpha, both of them soaking in each other scents. Dick chuckles, pulling them both in from the hallway and shutting the door behind them.

“Barely even two days, Tim. We were gonna give you a week. Bats got on your bad side?” Dick jokes as Tim and Jason finally pull away from each other. 

Tim gives them both that heart-shattering, charming smile that’s he so famous for. “Believe it or not. Bruce kind of talked some sense in me and made me realize some things.”

“Well you’re just in time,” Dick muses, pulling the beta back to the living room and pushing him down onto the couch, Jason following close behind. “We just ordered some pizza and a 90s movie marathon is on. It’s your kind of night.”

Tim grabs Dick’s bicep, his face more serious than it needs to be. “What’s wrong, Timmy?”

“I need to apologize,” Tim admits. 

Jason groans, kicking his feet up on Dick’s coffee table and leaning back. “There’s no reason for apologies. It’s not like you hurt any of our feelings.”

Dick gives Jason a look over Tim’s shoulder at the blatant lie. Jason shrugs.

Tim shakes his head. “No, Jay, we should talk about this! I shouldn’t have just walked out without saying anything. I know that must have hurt you guys too.”

Dick smiles. Not talking about feelings was something that Jason and Dick had picked up from Bruce. Dick was happy that Tim hadn’t also gained the nasty habit

“Look, Tim. We’re sorry. We didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. We should have told you—.”

“Jay, _stop_.” Tim’s face is serious as if he’s not sure if he really wants to say what he’s about to say. “You guys don’t make me uncomfortable. And yes, I wish you guys told me sooner. But that’s not actually why I was upset.”

Jay raises an eyebrow, on edge again. Dick rubs Tim’s back soothingly. “You can talk to us, baby bird.”

Tim takes a shuddering breath in, and Jason can hardly believe the words that come out of his mouth. 

“I was jealous,” he whispers. “I _am_ jealous,” Tim corrects, gaze focused on the TV screen in front of them. He‘s wringing his hands in his lap, obviously nervous and awaiting their reactions.

Dick grabs Tim chin, forcing their eyes to meet. “Tim, what do you mean?”

“You know,” Tim answers vaguely.

“No, I don’t. You’ll have to be more—“

Tim grabs the back of Dick’s neck and smashes their mouths together. Jason sits there in awe as he watches beta kiss the living daylights out of the alpha. Dick is rigid at first before he slowly melts into the kiss, and Jason instantly feels himself harden. Shit, that’s hot. He’s not gonna lie. Jason and Dick have both talked about their mutual attraction towards the third Robin, but they would never have guessed that the feelings were reciprocal. 

Tim pulls away from Dick, both their mouth red and slick with saliva. Tim turns to Jason, and Jason cannot tear his eyes away from those lips. “Timmy,” he whispers before the beta is grabbing him and pulling him into a ground-breaking kiss. 

Tim tastes so sweet, so different from kissing an alpha like Dick. His lips are soft, supple, and so pliant under his own. Jason’s wandering hand finds its way around the pale column of Tim’s slim throat, not squeezing just holding him there. Tim gasps nonetheless, and Jason takes the opportunity to plunge his tongue inside, exploring the boy’s warm and wet mouth. 

Jason is practically high off all the hormones that are wafting through the small apartment. He can smell Dick’s and Tim’s arousal so distinctly, and he can feel his mouth begin to water. He gives Tim’s neck a light squeeze, and the beta gives him back a beautiful whimper. Jason breaks the kiss to look at the third Robin, mouth swollen, eyes clenched shut, cheeks red, and bulge pushing at the front of his jeans. 

“I wish you said something earlier, Timmy,” he whispers, voice rough from arousal. Dick presses against Tim’s back, one hand rubbing across his chest and the other making its way up his thigh. Tim’s breath hitches as he stutters, “P-Please.”

Dick smiles, dark and sinful, as he licks a long strip behind the beta’s ear. His eyes are mischievous and hooded with desire. “Please, what?” he asks, teasing. 

“Touch me, please. I want it so bad.”

Jason would have never pegged Tim as a begger, but it’s a nice surprise nevertheless.

Dick’s hand comes to press against Tim’s front, and the beta bucks up into his touch. Dick chuckles. 

“Don’t worry, baby bird. We’ll take care of you.”

Dick pops open the front button.

—-

Bruce is drunk. 

Not the fake drunk, he sometimes pretends to be when he either isn’t in the mood to talk to the stiff collar, upper class Gothamites or when he’s trying to make a scene. 

He’s the kind of drunk, where he’s trying to forget. _I can’t leave family behind_. Tim’s words echo hauntingly in his mind, bouncing of the walls of his brain, driving him insane. _Was he not family? Apparently not._

Bruce takes another clumsy swig of his champagne from his flute, the bitter taste of self-pity burning his mouth. _Why is he feeling so sorry for himself? This was his fault._

A woman is draped over his arm, clutching at his arm and talking his ear off even though he can’t make out one word the woman is saying. He can’t remember her name nor tell if she came with him or just fell all over him when he arrived. He doesn’t care. He downs the rest of his drink, before shaking her off and handing her the rest empty glass.

It’s too bright in this godforsaken ballroom, the bright lights reflecting off the thousands, glittering chandeliers, and worsening Bruce’s mood even more. _Why did he even come? He wants nothing more to go back to his nest and pretend this night never happened._

He stumbles out of the ballroom, ignoring the few people who try to get his attention for a small chat. He drags himself through the luxury hotel lobby before finally stepping out into the cold night. He should call someone, Alfred or his chauffeur, to get home. Home. It doesn’t feel like that. It’s so lonely at the Manor. His nest only gives him the illusion of safety. Tim, Jason, and Dick. They are home. _God, he misses them._

He begins trudging down the sidewalk, no destination in mind except somewhere he can think. His phone feels heavy in his pocket, practically burning a hole into his thigh. He wants to call Tim. He’s pretty sure the beta isn’t upset that he told him he couldn’t leave. If he confesses what he suspects to be true, Tim would understand and come back. He might insist that Bruce see a doctor, but it would be worth it if Bruce didn’t have to go back to that lonely, suffocating Manor. He doesn’t want to force the boy to choose between him and being with Jason and Dick (he would lose every time anyway), so he would obviously let them all come back.

Bruce tries to imagine all three of his Robins back, and something warm blooms in his chest. 

He steps into a nearby alley and hurls his guts into a trash can.

When that’s over, he wipes his mouth clean with cuff of his suit. He reaches into his pocket and dials Tim’s personal phone number, continuing to make his way down the sidewalk, completely oblivious to the van that is cruising at his pace on the other side of the road. Bruce doesn’t know how long he’s been out, but it’s enough time to for him to wind up in the rougher parts of Gotham. He doesn’t care at this point, the alcohol muddling his brain.

It automatically goes to voicemail. “Shit,” Bruce curses. It’s so cold he can see his breath. He calls again. It goes to voicemail _again_. Bruce wants to slam his phone against the pavement.

_God, he’s out of control_. He hates being an omega, subject to these fucking irrational biological inclinations. So emotional, so weak.

His phone rings, and he answers without even checking the caller ID. “Tim?” he answers hopefully, praying his words don’t sound too slurred.

“It’s me, Master Bruce,” Alfred responds over the line. It’s not the voice Bruce was expecting, but the beta’s warm voice does ease his nerves.

“My apologies, Alfred. Is there something you need?”

“Sir, it’s nearly one o’ clock in the morning. Is there a time I should expect you back by?”

Bruce checks his watch, but the numbers were beginning to move and dance across his sight. He hums in acknowledgement.

“I hadn’t realized, Alfred,” Bruce says. He glances down the street to where an old motel sign fizzles loudly. “I’ll be staying at a hotel tonight. You can expect me back sometime tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, sir. Are you alright?”

Bruce takes in a shuddering breath, ready to spill everything to Alfred. His mouth snaps shut. _Control. He would have control over himself. _

“I’m perfectly fine, Alfred. Just tired. I’ll see you in the morning.” He hangs up.

As he shovels his phone back into his pocket, Bruce finally feels the presence at his back, a presence that’s been there longer than it should be. _Shit, he’s just realizing this now._

_Too late_, he tells himself as he feels an arm twist around his neck, throwing his body in the closest alley. Bruce grunts as he slams into the concrete. Bruce is up however before anyone else can land a hand on him. He’s trained himself and his other Robins how to fight while feeling the effects of different drugs, alcohol would be no different. There’s three men, judging from their size and build, blocking his exit from the alley. Bruce glances behind him to unfortunately see a concrete wall. He’ll have to fight.

His mind is already swirling, trying to reason who these men are and what they want. They don’t have any apparent weapons and Bruce is obviously not dressed at the Batman, so Bruce knows they know they are dealing with Bruce Wayne, the playboy billionaire.

“What do you want?” Bruce growls.

The men are hooded and clad in all black, including black boots and gloves. They don’t move a muscle, not until, a blue van comes screeching to a stop from behind them. The windows are dim, so Bruce cannot make out any of the features of whoever is behind the wheel_. A kidnapping, then. _He’s thwarted kidnappings before, mostly of crooks trying to take off with Dick when he was younger in exchange for ransom money. They never succeeded, but Bruce has never dealt with someone trying to kidnap himself.

He waits for them to make the first move, and they do.

The biggest one approaches him first, and Bruce immediately recognizes that he’s dealing with trained fighters, not crooks looking for money. The big man’s punches are calculated, precise, and powerful. Bruce dodges the first one, and is able to land a swift kick to the stomach for a counter, but the man is able to grab his ankle before Bruce can retreat and gives it an awful twist. _Pop_.

Bruce grimaces, but doesn’t hesitate to slam his elbow against the man’s nose. Blood explodes from the man’s nose, and he stumbles back, letting go of Bruce. Bruce’s ankle is throbbing, and he hisses in pain when he sets his foot back down_. Not good_. He can’t put too much pressure on the ankle; he’ll have to fight off balance.

He doesn’t have time to devise a plan of attack before the other two are on him, punching and kicking with a terrifying ferocity. Bruce does his best to evade, but he’s cornered with nowhere to go. Just as he knees one in the groin, the other lands a perfectly placed punched right to Bruce’s temple. The world tilts, and Bruce suddenly finds himself face first on the pavement, head screaming in pain.

Someone turns him over, and Bruce briefly blacks out as two more punches are landed, one to the eye and the other to the mouth. Bruce puts his hands up to protect his face, but the bigger one is back, pulling back the one that had knocked him out.

They whisper something angrily to each other. _And wow, that is not a language that Bruce has ever heard in his life._ And he has studied dozens of languages.

Bruce turns his head to the side, spitting blood that had pulled in his mouth. “What do you want from me?”

Bruce didn’t expect a response, and they don’t give it to him. He struggles as two of them latch onto his upper body, and the other one grabs his legs.

“Let me go, you fuckers,” he yells, in a desperate attempt that someone will hear him and call 911. Bruce’s heart is beating wildly in his chest as real panic sets in.

The van’s door slides open, and Bruce’s eyes widen when he sees a gurney with leather straps, an IV, heart monitor, and two other figures, also dressed in black. Surprisingly, he is gently placed on the gurney, as the two new figures tear off his suit jacket and white button up before quickly strapping the leather restraints across his chest, stomach, arms, and legs. Bruce headbutts on of the men holding him down. That earns him a leather restraint around the forehead.

He twists and turns, but the restraints are thick and hold. “What do you want?” he asks for the third time.

This time, he gets an answer. One of the figures, pulls their hood off. It’s a woman with white skin, red hair, and purple irises.

“What the hell,” Bruce whispers, not even trying to hide his astonishment. Batman would have been unfazed because Batman has dealt with invading alien robots before, and actually works with an alien, goddess, and merman. He reminds himself that he is Bruce Wayne.

The woman shushes him, resting a cold hand on his sternum. “It is best if you do not resist. We do not plan to hurt you or hold you for long. We merely seek to perform some tests.” She speaks with a light accent.

Bruce spits in her face. There’s a pause as the woman, _creature_, reels back in disgust and calmly wipes her face. Then in the next second, there’s a stinging pain across Bruce’s cheek as the woman slaps him. _Definitely, not fully human._ If the eyes weren’t already a dead giveaway. He feels wet, sticky blood drip down his cheek, and he glares at the woman and the gaudy ring perched on her thin finger.

“It’s a good thing you’re a fighter,” she purrs, leaning down until they’re practically nose to nose. “Batman.”

Bruce doesn’t change his features. He’s dealt with a few accusations in the past of posing as the vigilante especially since he publicly funds the Justice League, but they’ve all been dismissed as mere gossip. He’s not going to give this woman the benefit of the doubt.

“There’s no reason to try and pretend you’re not. Just, as there is no reason to try and pretend you’re not an omega either.”

Bruce’s blood goes cold. The woman giggles, a sharp nail resting on the underside of his chin. “We’ve been watching you for a long time, Bruce. We have to make sure you’re the _perfect_ match.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he hisses.

“Of course you don’t, but you will soon.” Her nails runs down his neck, to one of his four mating glands. Bruce’s muscles flex involuntarily. “Despite your age, you’ve remained in peak physical condition. You’ve managed to amass yourself a small empire here in Gotham. And not to mention... you’re just so handsome.”

“From the looks of it, you seem to be suffering from _bond starvation_ as you humans describe it, but that’s no problem to us,” she continues as another figure, a woman too also with vivid purple eyes, hands her a bottle. She pops open the cap and squirts a cold gel onto Bruce’s chest and stomach, her even colder hand spreading it evenly.

“Who is ‘us’?” Bruce asks tentatively, attempting to squeeze whatever information he can out of this woman.

She raises an eyebrow, smile pulling at the corner of her lips. “You can call me Myra. That’s all I’m telling you. Now shut up if you know what’s best for you.”

She snaps at the other woman in her own language, and the other quickly gets to work, sticking electrodes all over Bruce’s torso. The van remains stationary to Bruce’s surprise. They don’t plan on taking him anywhere.

He hears the heart monitor come to life just as he feels the prick of an IV in his hand.

“Just gonna take some blood, Brucie. Hold still,” Myra jokes.

Bruce doesn’t have much mobility in his neck, so he can’t actually see the syringe dangling from Myra’s hand, but he does feel it. They take several vials from him to the point where Bruce’s vision is becoming foggy and distorted. Coupled with the fact that Bruce mostly likely has a concussion, he feels himself about to drift away any second now.

They talk over him, in English or their language, Bruce can’t tell. If it’s a few minutes or an hours, he cannot tell either.

He’s startled back to reality when Myra taps him on the nose. He glares. “One more thing, and then you’ll be done. We need to test your reaction to our aphrodisiac.”

_Aphrodisiac?!_ Bruce squirms, but Myra merely laughs. “We won’t touch you, Bruce. Don’t fret.”

There’s a prick at his neck, and the effects are almost immediate. Bruce has faced Poison Ivy’s dangerous and mind-altering pheromones before, but her concoctions always took a little time work their way into the blood stream. Whatever Myra gives him is five times as powerful.

Bruce whimpers as he feels his slick soak the back of his pants and the gurney beneath him. Myra giggles again. “That’s what I hoped for.”

_Fuck you_ Bruce tries to stay but it comes out as a wheeze. God, he feels like he’s sucking wind through a straw. Myra’s finger make it way back to his throat, and he flinches hard.

“That’s expected. All four of your mating glands are swollen. It must be painful, pressing down on your windpipe.”

Bruce is hot, so _hot_, sweat beading at the edge of his hairline. He’s in heat.

Myra presses a cold kiss to his forehead, and Bruce resists the urge to hurl again, afraid he’ll choke and die on his own vomit.

There’s another needle pressing into him, as Myra whispers, “Goodnight.”

The world goes black.


	5. The places that I go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get better before they get worse. Bruce finally tells someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends. For those who may be curious, the differences between an omega, beta, and alpha is largely the type of hormone and pheromone their body creates as well as all the fact that all omegas can carry children. Largely more filler, but *very* brief mention of rape. This is unedited, so please excuse the typos. Enjoy, and please comment to let me hear your thoughts.

Tim wakes slowly, daylight escaping from behind the curtain to softly fall across his face and rousing him from his sleep.

Smell. The scent of sex and sweat hangs heavy in Dick’s bedroom, heady, strong, and intoxicating. Eyes still tightly shut, Tim breathes in a lungful of the aroma, relishing in the memories from last night.

Touch. He’s a little too warm. Dick’s cotton sheets are twisted and entwined uncomfortably around Tim’s limbs, and after another second or two of clarity, Tim becomes distinctly aware of the two hot bodies nestled in the heap of sheets and blankets. Dick’s sleeping face rests on the pillow across from Tim, mouth slightly unhinged and snoring softly. Jason is behind, broad chest pressed against Tim’s naked back and arm slung over and curling gently around his torso.

Sight. Tim’s groggy eyes flutter open, squinting in the harsh sun. He lifts his head slightly, peering over Dick’s shoulder to read the clock perched on the nightstand. _7:20 AM_. He huffs. It’s a Monday, and Tim usually spent Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday working long hours at Wayne Enterprises back in Gotham.

These past few months, it had been a pain commuting from Bludhaven to Gotham and back, but it had been worth it. Soon after Tim decided to take a gap year after high school graduation, Bruce had surprisingly come to him with an offer—to head the entire Wayne Securities branch as executive manager. It was and still is a daunting task as an eighteen year old, but it was a blessing to be able to harness his computer skills towards something other than vigilante work. 

He usually reported in around 8:00AM, but he supposes he can call in sick, much too content in the confines of Dick and Jason’s embrace despite the heat. Dick rolls closer, groaning and mumbling gibberish under his breath before quickly falling back into deep sleep. Tim can’t help but giggle, smothering the sound into his own pillow.

Jason’s arm tightens around his waist. “What’s so funny, Replacement?” a voice rough from both sex and sleep ghosts over his ear. Tim involuntarily shivers, the hair on the back of his neck rising.

“Dick looks so cute while he sleeps,” Tim whispers.

_Well, Dick always looks so cute._ Pale skin, dark lashes, pink lips, and hair as dark as the night sky. Social media and gossip magazines went crazy for the first adopted son of Bruce Wayne, crowning him the second most eligible bachelor right behind Bruce himself. Dick was public with his dynamic unlike Bruce however so the title of “alpha heartthrob” was also added to the list.

Jason hums in agreement, slowly sitting up. “He’s going to be late for work.” He gives Tim a mischievous look, and something curls in his gut. Jason leans down, pressing an open mouth kiss to Tim’s jaw. “Shall we wake him?”

Tim’s breath hitches as Jason yanks the sheets from his body, exposing the beta’s naked, slender body. Jason growls before leaning over and smothering the younger boy in a motley of kisses and bites, starting from his neck to his chest, belly, and finally to the sensitive insides of his quivering thighs.

Tim lets out a beautiful moan, heat rising to cheeks as the alpha slowly spreads his thighs, kisses slowly making their way to where Tim truly wants them. He’s already hard, the typical horny teenager he is.

“Yes, Jason,” Tim groans, hands fisting into the sheets in anticipation. “_There_,” he squeaks as Jason swallows his cock whole.

Tim’s spine arches as his whole world tilts in a daze of pleasure. He wants to clamp his thighs shuts in response, but Jason’s grip is bruising and unrelenting. Jason makes quick work, hollowing out his cheeks and bobbing up and down. Tim cannot stop the cacophony of noises that spill from him as he feels that familiar ball of pleasure build in his stomach.

Jason’s rough and calloused hand caresses his stomach, nails slightly scratching the soft skin. His hand moves lower and _lower_, a thick finger swiping over Tim’s hole, and _Tim sees stars_, gripping onto Jason’s shoulders as he cums with a shout.

Tim guesses he must have blacked out for a second because the next thing he registers is Dick’s amused face hovering above his own. “That’s a nice wake up call,” he says, wide smile on his face.

Jason collapses back down on the other side of Tim, licking his lips, he says, “You got fifteen minutes to get down to the station, Dick.”

Dick’s eyes widen, and he clambers off the bed in a hurry, cursing when he reads the clock that now says 7:30AM. “Thanks, Jay,” he grumbles as he throws his closet open, scavenging for a pair of trousers and tie.

Dick had been working at the Bludhaven police station as a detective ever since he officially retired from the Titans and working as Robin. Now he was Nightwing by night and Detective Grayson by day.

Tim rolls out of bed after him much to Jason’s dismay who whines in protest. “I have to make a call to Wayne Securities, so they know I won’t be coming in today.”

He stands up on slightly shaky legs, his whole body still tingling from the blowjob Jason had given. He quickly finds his underwear from where it had been discarded last night, slipping them on, before retrieving his jeans, phone still safely tucked in the back pocket.

_(2) Missed Calls._

Tim raises an eyebrow in his confusion when he unlocks his phone and discovers that both are from Bruce’s personal cell. _Two missed calls, no text messages_. If Batman needed Robin, he would have been reached him through the Oracle communication network. The calls were timestamped at 12:45AM and 12:47AM, odd times especially considering that Bruce wasn’t out on patrol. _Was he calling to talk about Tim’s increasingly long absences from Gotham? To berate him or ask that he come back?_

The truth is that Tim misses Gotham, misses Bruce, misses Alfred and the Manor whenever he stays in Bludhaven. The past five years had been grueling—working as Robin was not easy, hard on the body and mind, especially considering Bruce pushes him to the limit every day in training. It’s what he wanted, it’s what he begged Batman for, when he saw Batman spiraling out of control and into a darkness that nobody but Robin could pull him from.

But then he started getting closer Dick Grayson, the first Robin and Boy Wonder. Tim was in awe when he first met the man, but then he had started getting closer to Dick in a way that only Robins could understand. _And then_, Jason had come back from the dead, resurrected from a shift in reality and the Lazarus Pit. His relationship with Jason had been… rocky at the start (well, he tried to kill him), but coming back to life can have scary effects on someone, so Tim doesn’t blame him.

Now, Tim was torn between to cities and between the people he loved the most, Jason, Dick, and Bruce. Tim knows Jason and Dick don’t hate Bruce. They just…butt heads a lot…about almost everything. But he know, he _knows_ without a doubt in him mind that the three want to rekindle their relationship. They’re pack, after all. A very dysfunctional pack with some issues to work out, but a pack nonetheless.

He calls back.

The phone rings five times before an automated voicemail clicks on. Tim sighs before deciding to simply message.

_Tim: Everything okay? Do we need to talk?_

He stares at the text for an unnecessarily long time. Dick peers over his shoulder, wearing grey trousers, a white button down, black tie, and badge hanging around his neck.

“You and Bruce good?” he asks.

Tim nods his head. “I just missed some of his calls last night.

“Huh,” he says vaguely.

“I think something is wrong with Bruce,” Tim blurts. _Shit, he’s making a habit of blurting out whatever is on his mind. _

Jason sits up against the headboard, hands behind his head. “What do you mean?” He looks worried.

“He looks like he hasn’t sleep in ages. I think he may be sick. Flu, maybe? I don’t know,” he rambles awkwardly.

Dick pats him on the shoulder, reassuring smile across his face. “I’m sure he’s fine, little bird. Bruce looks like the walking dead most of the time.”

“I don’t know guys,” Tim whispers. “You should see him.”

He’s met with a heavy silence. “All three of us should go and visit the Manor soon. I think Bruce and Alfred would like that. We haven’t been all together as a pack in over a year. It would be good for us.”

_Good for Bruce_ goes unspoken.

Dick face is soft, and Jason looks like he’s contemplating. “We’ll talk about this later, alright? When I come back tonight?”

Tim nods mutely, silently knowing that they wouldn’t talk about it. Dick gives him another smile before grabbing his bag and turning towards the door. He stops, hand braced on the doorknob, as Tim’s phone rings suddenly and loudly.

_Alfred_ the caller ID reads.

Tim doesn’t hesitate and answers the call.

“Alfred? Is everything alright?”

“Hello, Master Tim. Do not worry, but Master Bruce has been hurt.”

\---

Four white walls is what Bruce registers when his heavy eyelids peel open, flinching at the bright lights. His mind is mush, only pain filtering through his senses. Pain in his ankle, pain across his face. He tries to move around but his limbs feel like lead and a sharp tingling sensations rockets through his muscles.

He hears voices around him, but he feels like he’s underwater, voices muffled and time moving slower. He hears someone calling his name, incessantly but gently.

“Mr. Wayne? Mr. Wayne?”

He groans in response.

“Go fetch Dr. Hamilton. He’s waking up.”

His eyesight finally clears, the room he is in coming into focus and clarity. A hospital room. He’s lying on a hospital bed with thin paper sheets and large blue blanket, IV in his hand. There’s a woman too, a nurse judging from her outfit, and she’s giving Bruce a tight-lipped smile.

“Where am I? How did I get here?” are the first thing Bruce asks, attempting to sit up. His voice is scratchy and coarse, a small tightness and soreness still in his throat. The nurse places a palm against his chest, softly but Bruce still uncharacteristically flinches, expecting a cold touch but instead receiving a warm one.

The nurse retracts her hand automatically. Her name tag reads _Sierra_. She’s short and petite, flowery scent wafting from her naturally. _Omega._

“You’re at Gotham General Hospital, Mr. Wayne. An ambulance brought you here late at night in response to a 911 call. You were found, beaten and unconscious in an alley.”

“Who called? Who found me?” he asks with more urgency. There’s a terrifying blankness in his mind. He vaguely recalls the gala last night and attempting to call Tim. Alfred had called him perhaps as well. There was somebody following him as well—more than one?

“We were not given that information, Mr. Wayne, but the police officers who were on the scene may be able to tell you. I’ve written down their names for you, and they would like for you to come down to the station as soon as you are feeling better, so they can finish filing a report.”

“Why can’t I remember anything?” he growls, upset at how vulnerable he feels.

The omega nurse swallows. “Dr. Hamilton should be here any second to explain things more in depth.”

“Tell me now.”

Sierra sighs. “We took some blood samples to run some tests, and found traces of multiple drugs. Phosphodiesterase and yohimbine are common substances found in aphrodisiacs. We also discovered benzodiazepines, a drug that is both a sedative but can effect short term memory. That coupled with the high level of alcohol in your blood would explain the memory loss you are experiencing.”

_Sedatives. Aphrodisiacs. Memory loss. _Who would do that to him?

“Aphrodisiacs?” he repeated dumbly.

“You were found in a drug-induced heat, Mr. Wayne.”

_Shit._ Just as Bruce was about to open his mouth to bribe the nurse and whatever doctors also knew into silence, she consoled him.

“Please do not worry. We have a strict confidentiality policy and a need-to-know basis here. Only I, Nurse Laura, and Dr. Hamilton who treated you are aware of your dynamic status, and it will remain that way.”

“Good,” Bruce grumbled.

At that moment, the doors to the hospital room opened, a young doctor with dark skin emerging, followed by an even younger nurse. He shuts the door softly behind the two.

“Good morning, Mr. Wayne. I’m Dr. Hamilton,” he greets brightly, pulling up a chair to Bruce’s bedside. He gestures to the other nurse standing behind him. “This is Nurse Laura, and I’ve seen you already met Nurse Sierra.”

Bruce nods, and Bruce is glad that the doctor registers he wants to get to business immediately and leave. The doctor doesn’t smell of anything, and Bruce is almost comforted by the fact that his dynamic is masked by scent inhibitors.

“Well, your injuries weren’t too severe considering the highly vulnerable state you were found in.”

Bruce reads that as, _we are surprised you weren’t raped. _He grimaces.

Dr. Hamilton shuffles a couple of papers in his hands, glancing at them briefly. “Deep bone bruising alongside your left cheekbone, jaw, and eye socket,” he notes, and Bruce lifts a hand to touch the tender and sensitive skin there. “As well as a second degree ankle sprain indicating a tear in the ligament there.”

Bruce glances down to his ankle, wrapped tightly in white gauze half way up his calf. It throbs uncomfortably.

“I recommend resting for a couple days, if not a week. You will be given crutches to get around. Do not forget to ice, use compression, and elevate. After a week, begin slowly easing into rehab. I have a list of exercises and stretches you should do to regain mobility and strength back in the ligament.”

Bruce briefly zones out. He’s been dealing with much worst injuries on his own, and knew the best methods to get back on his feet as quickly as possible.

“What concerns me is the results from your blood test.” Dr. Hamilton’s smile falters.

“Nurse Sierra has told me the results already.”

Dr. Hamilton shuffles around his papers again. “Well, there were chemical compounds that we weren’t able to identify.”

Bruce stiffens. “Our lab had multiple looks at it, but found no matches. We’ve already sent the blood results to another hospital in hopes they can cover for our gap in knowledge. We will notify—”

“May I also receive a copy of the results?”

The doctor looks puzzled at the strange request but relents. “Yes, we can do that, Mr. Wayne.”

“Is that it? Can I go now?” Bruce rips the sheets away from himself, swinging his feet over the side of the bed and catching sight of his folded clothes on a nearby seat.

“Two more things, Mr. Wayne,” the doctor says, stopping the omega.

“The blood test also revealed a surprisingly low level of omega hormones in your blood,” he began.

Bruce couldn’t help the heat that flooded his cheeks. “Bond starvation, I know,” he grits through his teeth. He _really_ wants to go now.

Dr. Hamilton nods in agreement. “The aphrodisiacs caused a skyrocket in your hormones, but when they began to flush out, it dropped back down low, causing a drop. A bad one. You might not remember. We had to sedate you again.”

Bruce is really embarrassed now. He runs a hand down his face in sheer humiliation. Drops, caused by multiple sudden shifts in hormone levels, were essentially nervous or mental breakdowns. They were common in alphas and omega, not so much in betas who naturally had more even and consistent level of hormones.

“For a man your age, Mr. Wayne, bond starvation and omega drops are extremely dangerous. I’ve prescribed not only naproxen for your ankle, but omega hormone supplements. The supplements should help mitigate some of the symptoms you are no doubt experiencing: depression, anxiety, slowness and tiredness. These supplements however do not address the root cause of this ailment. I can recommend a number of therapists or counselors—“

“No.”

The doctor sighs again. “Very well. The supplements should not be taken with heat suppressants or birth control however, since both nullify the effects of the supplements.”

Bruce curses again.

The doctor gives the omega a sad smile, and Bruce feels nauseous at the display of pity. “Now, which pack member can we call to pick you up? Is one of your sons available?”

Bruce shakes his head. “I’ll make it back myself,” he mutters, bitterness pooling in his gut. “Please, leave so I can get changed.”

No one moves.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wayne. Our hospital policy says that omegas victims of assault or abuse are not authorized for release unless a pack member can pick him or her up. Who can I call for you?”

Now, he really was a damsel in distress. Bruce resists all urges of screaming, and somehow calmly gives the doctor Alfred’s phone number.

A half an hour later, Bruce was settled in his car, Alfred at the wheel, crutches in the back seat, and prescriptions and blood test clutched tightly in his hand. The silence was tense as Alfred pulled out of the hospital’s parking lot. He was at least thankful that his stay at the hospital had stayed under tight wraps from the media.

Alfred breaks the silence as expected. “Master Bruce, are you willing to explain to me now what has been going on with you?”

“I was attacked, Alfred,” he answers.

Alfred raises an eyebrow, giving the omega a long look. “I suspected as much, sir. An adversary of Bruce Wayne as opposed to Batman I also assume,” the beta retorts.

Bruce huffs. “Everything is pretty much blank from last night, Alfred, but I’ll figure it out. I’m going to find out who drugged me, what drugs they used, and what they want.”

“I know you will, sir. I was actually more concerned with how you have been doing these past few months. Even before last night, you looked awful.”

Bruce rests his head against the window, staring blankly at the Gotham streets in the morning sun.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred presses, not a trace of humor in his voice.

“Bond starvation, Alfred,” Bruce finally answers, voice thin. “I’m sick.”

“Sir,” Alfred begins, at lost for words. “I’m sorry,” he finally says.

Bruce lets out a humorous less chuckle. He turns to Alfred, and really looks at the beta who has been by his side forever. A friend and role model.

“Do not blame yourself, Alfred, please. I’ll be fine.”

“Perhaps, you should talk to Master Tim or Master Jason—”

Bruce shakes his head vehemently. “Maybe eventually. I think I need to sort this out by myself at first. Anyways, I have some other things to worry about.”

He looks at the blood test in his hands, and thinks back to his last meeting with Justice League, to what Diana had mentioned. It was time to take a look at those files she sent him.


	6. My favorite ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce has a nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, this story is having more plot that I intended. I really just wanted to make Bruce hurt, and then have his Robins take care of him lol. Sorry if there are any plot holes or stuff that doesn't make sense. I literally have no outline and making this up as I go. Hope you enjoy, and comment what you think is going to happen next (or what you want to happen). UNEDITED.

After spending the whole day and night mulling over the case files, reading them and rereading them to find connections, patterns, and clues, Bruce finally decides to retire for the night and try to sleep, something that had been escaping him of late. He forces himself back upstairs, deciding to distance himself from the Batcave and more specifically his nest, which always brought on inappropriate thoughts that he wasn’t quite ready to face. 

His footsteps and the tap of the crutches echo ominously through the Manor, and a strange sensation sluggishly crawls over Bruce, the sensation as if he is being watched. Each shadow looks menacing and each turn through the hallways has him holding his breath, listening in anticipation for someone other than Alfred on the other side, just waiting for the perfect moment to jump out and attack, seizing the opportunity to take advantage of his vulnerability.

He climbs into bed and just lies there on his back for too long, duvet pulled to his chin. He closes his eyes, but his mind is moving too quickly, picking up on every sound from inside and outside the manor. It must have been hours, but Bruce slowly feels that familiar darkness pulling him at him, lugging him deeper and  _ deeper _ into slumber.

Bruce cannot remember the last time he had a nightmare.

He’s faced the creatures, villains, and monsters that haunt most in their sleep in his  _ reality _ , so sleep was usually blissfully blank and devoid of those terrifying images and visions he was plagued with as a child while he slept, sadly no sweet and innocent dreams came to grace him either.

This time is different.

He’s standing in complete darkness, the darkness extending into what seems to be eternity in every direction he faces. There’s an inhuman coldness weighing in the air, filling his lungs and squeezing them painfully with every calculated breath he takes. A part of Bruce knows this isn’t real, but  _ that _ sensation returns like cold fingertips creeping up his spine and curling around his throat. Someone is watching him. He knows.

He starts running, something that Batman would never do, but that omega flight instinct is hitting him full force, and he  _ runs _ . His limbs are heavy, and it’s like waking up in the hospital again, everything blurred and moving in slow motion.

His feet slam against the obsidian floor, and his lungs beg him to stop, choking and convulsing on that strange cold air. Bruce doesn’t stop, and can’t stop. Not until, a tendril of darkness and smoke slithers across the ground, wrapping painfully around his ankle and pulling his feet from underneath him.

Bruce falls, expecting the ground to catch him, but he falls  _ through _ , catapulting through an inky abyss. A scream is caught in his throat, but no sound dares to come out.

Smoky, dark tendrils encapsulate him, wrapping around every body part. It’s everywhere, around him, over him, in him, this darkness.

And the only thing Bruce can think as the blood in his veins hardens to ice, is cold.

Cold. Cold.  _ Coldness _ .

It kills him.

Bruce jolts as he wakes up, scrambling to turn on his bedside lamp. A slew of whimpers fall from his lips as he fumbles with the light switch, but soon the soft, yellow light floods the room, chasing out the darkness.

Bruce usually finds comfort in the darkness. It was his solace as the Dark Knight. Now, he was pressing his hand to his mouth to stop those awful, pathetic, little whimpers from spilling out.

When he regains a semblance of control back, he removes his hand, and to his horror, discovers it is wet. His whole face is wet. He’s crying.

A growl rips from his throat as he furiously wipes his face dry and tears of his covers. He storms into his bathroom as quickly as he can while on crutches, flipping on the switch, and ripping back the shower curtain. No one.

He scavenges through all his cabinets and drawers for  _ anything— _ bugs, cameras, trackers, listening devices. Nothing.

He goes back into his bedroom and throws open his closet, yanking down his clothes from their hangers, and searching for the same things but to no avail.

He goes to the next bedroom, a guest room that is rarely used and does the same thing, rips of the bed covers, digs through the closets and drawers, and even presses his ear against the wall to see if he can hear the mechanical whirring of a listening device.  _ Nothing _ .

Bruce goes to the next room and repeats.

He makes it through all eleven bedrooms and seven bathrooms before storming downstairs to his study and does the same thing. He’s almost in a trance, body moving on autopilot. Papers and folders are strewn all about the floor by the time he moves to the kitchen. He’s opening the pots and pans cupboard when he stumbles back, a memory hitting him.

Bruce drops his crutches, and they clang loudly against the polished, wooden floorboards. He stumbles briefly before settling himself on the nearest chair.

_ A woman. Red hair. A ring. _

The images flash painfully across his mind like a film on repeat with no context or explanation. He sits there dumbly, trying to make sense of it all.

A hand rests on his shoulder, and Bruce luckily resists the urge to flinch, recognizing Alfred’s subtle but fresh scent. His body relaxes, sinking into the warm touch.

“Master Wayne,” Alfred says cautiously. “Would you like to explain why you are up at three o’clock in the morning, tearing apart the manor when you should be resting?”

It’s not a question. His voice is light and cautious but demands an answer.

“I had a feel—I thought someone was watching us here in the manor,” Bruce admits, his own words sounding stupid to his own ears.

“And you do recall, sir that you have a high security system installed that has always worked effectively?” Alfred presses.

Bruce runs a hand through his hair. “I know, Alfred,” he whispers. “The doctor said anxiety is a symptom of my…sickness.”

He doesn’t want to say those two words.  _ Bond starvation _ . It screams of weakness and desperation.

“This is not anxiety. This is paranoia.”

Alfred’s words are sharp and cutting, and there is an apology at the tip of Bruce’s tongue before he can help it.

“My apologies. I’ll clean—”

“I am not admonishing you, sir. I’m simply concerned.” He takes in a heavy breath. “I’ve called Master Tim.”

“Alfred…” Bruce tries to say, but Alfred continues.

“I knew you wouldn’t tell him or your other wards about what is happening. I refrained from telling him about your ailment, but mentioned to him that you were attacked by an unknown adversary. He was shocked and upset you didn’t tell him as well as Master Dick and Jason.”

“I do not want to worry them,” Bruce defends.

“They worry the most when you drift from them and create this barrier. In the morning, I would call Master Dick and invite them all over for dinner.”

Bruce opens his mouth to object, but Alfred can read his face, and presses harder.

“Call them,” he reiterates simply.

Bruce shuts his mouth, and Alfred gives him a good squeeze on the shoulder. Bruce wants to hug the man, but the two had never been that tactile. He smiles in return instead.

“I suggest taking a shower sir before going back to bed. Your night escapade had you working up quite a sweat.”

Alfred’s hand drops from his shoulder, and the beta turns around, heading back upstairs. Bruce glances down and runs a hand down his shirt, which to his surprise is soaked in sweat, the wet shirt sticking to his skin.

He frowns. He doesn’t feel hot. In fact, he feels very, very cold.

\---

Bruce somehow manages to go back to bed, his sleep devoid of anymore nightmares thankfully but fitful. He tossed and turned all night and woke up to what seemed to be every thirty minutes are so, his body unable to just  _ rest _ .

When the clock read 7:00AM, he finally gave up, heading back down to the Batcave to investigate more. Bruce sits in front of the Batcomputer now, calculating eyes reading into a particular case file _ , Ines Naudi from Andorra _ , a small microstate nestled between France and Spain.

Ines Naudi was a distant descendant of the royal family that used to rule Andorra centuries ago. She was popular in Andorra but relatively unknown globally. She was the newest case file, a mere two weeks ago.

Her body was delivered back to her family’s estate.

Yes,  _ delivered _ . In a wooden crate to be exact according to the police reports.

Some of her organs had been messily ripped out through her stomach, including the poor woman’s uterus. The attached photos were stomach-curdling, and her murder was the  _ least _ gruesome. She was at least recognizable.

The case file that Diana had dated as the earliest, seven months ago, was a popular singer from Rio de Janeiro, Lucas Guimarães. His autopsy report was extensive, and his body was unrecognizable. He was only identified based on fingerprints.

There was a total of seven case files. All omegas, and all linked to fame, money, or royalty as Diana had noted. Other connections were sparse. Blood tests and toxicology reports varied.

Lucas Guimarães’ blood was clean. Five other case files had traces of phosphodiesterase and yohimbine, the aphrodisiacs that were used against Bruce as well. Rohypnol and other sedatives, such as barbiturates and narcotics, were also discovered. All the drug and chemicals found were common date-rape drugs used mostly against omegas, making Bruce almost second guess the connections.

Yes, all of the bodies were gruesomely murdered, but never the same way twice, which was usually the tell-tale sign of a systematic serial killer or killers. Some of the victims had been missing for weeks while with others, there was no time gap before they were registered as missing and when their body was either delivered or discovered. It was messy. Inconsistent.

Ines Naudi’s blood test had Bruce’s mind spinning however. At the bottom of the extensive list of drugs was the following:  _ Unknown(s). _ With the note “pending further analysis.” Bruce sat back in his chair, a heavy weight settling over him.

He would hate to conflate his own problems with a Justice League case, but a quick search into Andorran news confirmed his suspicions about the uncanny similarities. Ines Naudi had gone to the police several times before her disappearance, hysterical and neurotic, claiming that someone was “following her.” She had no evidence nor coherent explanation, so no official report could be made. With the royal’s death, there was now a full fledged investigation. 

Bruce glances at his cell, Alfred’s words ringing in his mind.

He glances back at the Batcomputer, creating a mental list of all the missing information and holes.

No clear motive. Bruce didn’t even trust Diana’s assessment that this was done by a species other than human. Yes, the unknown drugs were disconcerting, but didn’t necessarily point to extraterrestrial. The scope of the case files was also disorienting. The seven files were from everywhere, and the targets were oddly specific. This group, and Bruce was now considering this a group, had plenty of resources to be able to track down and carefully plan the murders of these omegas. 

If this was the same group targeting him, then he would first have to take another blood sample of himself, hoping that whatever he was injected with was still in his system. Tim could probably analyze it better than the Gotham hospitals.

Second, he would have to find video footage of his attack as quickly as possible. He’s sure Dick does plenty of coordination with the Gotham police department and could easily access that information.

Dick. Tim. Jason.

He sighs and picks up his cell, scrolling to Dick’s number.

He calls.

His phone rings five times before he hears a click. Bruce sighs, expecting to hear Dick’s usual voicemail, but instead he hears Dick’s soft, charming voice filter through, “Bruce?”

He sharply takes in a breath, mind faltering and blanking, ready to just leave voice a Dick a voicemail. He sits there dumbly, trying to gather his thoughts as quickly as possible.

“Bruce? You there?” Dick asks again, and Bruce snaps out of it,

“I-I’m here,” he stutters uncharacteristically. “It’s good to hear from you.”  _ Why is he being so awkward? _

He hears Dick chuckle deeply on the other line, and Bruce’s cheeks heat. 

“Is there something you need?”

_ Invite them over. Ask them to come back. Tell them about about the bond starvation.  _

Those are things Bruce  _ should _ talk to Dick about, but of course, he doesn’t. 

“I need your help,” Bruce starts, switching to business mode. “I need you to access some things in relation to my attack.”

Dick cuts him off. “How are you feeling?”

Bruce halts, not fully comprehending the question at first. “How am I?” Bruce repeats. His mouth suddenly feels dry, and he swallows. “I’m alright. I should get off these stupid crutches by the end of the week.”

“You’re on crutches?”

“Yes. It’s just an ankle sprain, nothing to worry about.”

Dick hums, clearly thinking. Bruce wishes he could see his face. 

“What do you need me to do?” Dick asks after a moment, and Bruce switches back to business.

“First, I need you to access Gotham’s police report on my attack.”

“Bruce, you can do that on your own, you know? Police departments are authorized to release information that concerns your attack to you.”

Bruce shakes his head. “I know, but whoever called 911 requested to remain anonymous, so they won’t tell me.”

Dick sighs. “Yeah, I can do that. Anything else?”

Bruce gets the feeling that he may be bothering Dick, but he continues.

“You know the Motel 86 in downtown Gotham? The one right across from the Robinson Apartment Complex? I need you to gain access to their security footage.”

“Bruce, what happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“Alfred made it seem like you were just mugged? Is there something more?”

Bruce reads the connotation in Dick’s words.  _ Batman-related? _

“No. Nothing of that sort. It’s just…”

_ Does he mention the unknown drugs in his blood? _

“I was unconscious for awhile, and I don’t know what whoever hurt me did to me,” he says, hating the tremor in his voice.

_ They worry the most when you drift from them and create this barrier. _

“They used heat inducers on me,” Bruce reveals.

There’s painful silence between the two, and Bruce is about to second guess his decision when Dick finally speaks. 

“What the fuck?” the alpha growls. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier, Bruce? Did they—”

“Nothing happened,” Bruce quickly reassures, hating the sound of an upset alpha. “Which if anything confuses me more. There seemed to be no motive. Perhaps they just wanted to scare me, which is plausible, but I would like to know.”

Bruce would hate to admit it, but there was a small part of him that was scared. He hated being vulnerable and weak. A group was able to completely catch him by surprise, and what’s worse is that he doesn’t know  _ who _ or  _ why _ . 

“I can do that, Bruce.” Dick’s voice is tight with anger. 

“Thank you, Dick.”

Another pause.

“Well, I guess I’ll call you—”

“Dick,” Bruce interjects. 

“Yes?”

Bruce nervously taps his heel against the floor of the Batcave. 

“Would you, Jason, and Tim like to come over for dinner this Friday?” the omega asks in one breath. “You haven’t been to the Manor in awhile, and Alfred—”

“I’m sorry, Bruce. This Friday is not the best time for me. I’ve already—”

Bruce doesn’t want to hear an excuse. “That’s alright. Just wondering. I’ll talk to you later.”

Dick chuckles again, and Bruce both loves and hates what the sound does to him.

“Bruce, I’ve already made plans for this Friday night, but I’m sure we can do next Friday.”

“Next Friday?”

“Yes, next Friday night. We’ll all be over.”

Bruce ignores the warm feeling the blossoms in his chest. He confirms a time with Dick, and they hang up. 

Bruce sets down his phone. He imagines his Manor full again, and he can’t help the small smile that works its way to his lips. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anybody know what song the chapter titles are from? Next: Tim, Dick, and Jason come over :) reunion time


	7. Hold your love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick does some thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I both loved writing the chapter and struggled with it. This is unedited so please excuse the typos. Hope you guys enjoy, and comment what you think will happen next/what you want to happen next.

Dick has a lot on his mind. 

He’s wondering what food he’s going to order as soon as he gets off patrol. He and Tim ate some Chinese together for lunch, so definitely not anything Asian. Maybe Italian, or he could swing by the local deli and grab a sub. Maybe he should grab three—just in case Tim and Jason are awake by the time he gets back to the apartment. 

He’s also thinking about work. He’s thinking about the stack of cases that sit on his desk, and the long hours he will have to spend going over the evidence. Rapes, murders, muggings, a few disappearances— he’s got the whole nine yards. The sudden sharp rise in organized crime in Bludhaven is also affecting his other work— as Nightwing. 

He leans over the rooftop of the Midtown Exchange building, the cold night air sweeping through his hair as his eyes scan the skyline and the nearly empty street below him. 

What is really consuming Dick’s thoughts is Bruce, and more specifically, his discoveries. 

Or lack thereof. 

He had taken the drive to the Motel 86 Bruce had described with his badge gleaming brightly around his neck and politely asked the receptionist to show him whatever security footage they had from outside from three days ago.

Just  _ conveniently _ , the motel dumps their footage on a 48 hour cycle, so Dick went across the street to the Robinson Apartment Complex and asked for the same thing. The little old lady at the front desk led him to the back and showed him where they kept the tapes, fortunately all dated and extending weeks back. 

Dick played the one from three days ago, hoping any of the angles would catch anything suspicious related to Bruce’s attack. He scrolled forward to a little past midnight, and let the tape run. 

He watched with rapt curiosity as the tape began to play before suddenly jumping from 12:30AM to 2:00AM. He frowned before replaying the tape again, and again, and  _ again _ . The lady shrugged, pushing her glasses back up on her nose before saying, “I don’t know honey. I just sort the mail.”

He stormed out of the place before heading to the drug store next door. They dumped their security footage on a 24 hour cycle. He went to burger joint next door. Their taped jumped randomly between times as well. He visited about six places of business before heading back uptown to some swanky seafood restaurant.

He leaned over that desk, face almost pressed against the glowing black and white screen. The concierge stood behind him, checking her nails and to his joy, not asking any questions. At 12:40AM, he saw a glimpse of Bruce passing by the restaurant's front doors, stumbling and obviously intoxicated. 

_ Huh _ . Bruce didn’t usually drink, and definitely was not in the habit of getting drunk and strolling down Gotham’s streets so late. 

_ I think something is wrong with Bruce. _

Tim’s words had resurfaced suddenly in his mind. Bruce has always had his...issues. Some he dealt with better than others (by not dealing with them at all). However despite that, Bruce always maintained a degree of control and composure. 

Dick filed that information away in his mind, smiled and thanked the woman before abruptly leaving. 

The Gotham Police Department was no more helpful. Commissioner Gordon had been briefed about Bruce’s attack but was hesitant to reveal all the contents of the report to Dick with the concern about “conflict of interests.” Dick had rolled his eyes and insisted before the Commissioner folded. 

Dick jotted down the phone number and left in hopes that he finally had a lead. An hour later, he called the number and cursed when a machine’s voice notified him that “the number you are trying to reach is unavailable or no longer in use.” 

A burner phone. 

Now, things were getting too suspicious. 

Dick takes in a lungful of the Bludhaven air, mind whirring and restless.  _ Was Bruce not letting on more than he knew? _ Dick didn’t think so. The omega did not sound at ease, and Dick had carefully picked up the waver in his voice the longer Bruce talked about his attack. 

Dick had called Bruce right away and told him everything. The omega had been oddly quiet, and swiftly hung up. 

He admonishes himself. He knows Bruce nor the rest of them typically adhere to traditional pack dynamics, but he regrets not rushing over to the Wayne Manor sooner to offer his support. He’s  _ the  _ alpha of the pack after all, and he knows Bruce is the last person who needs protecting, but something in his instincts is calling him. 

But his own pride is pulling him back.

Heat inducers. 

Dick can’t take his mind of that fact—for two reasons. 

First, it completely terrifies him that Bruce was in such a vulnerable state to be manipulated and used. It shocks him too that he made it out with just some bruises and an ankle sprain. 

Second, it’s Bruce in  _ heat _ . When Dick was Robin, the omega had been extremely private about his heats to the point of even leaving the Manor to hole up in some exclusive hotel for a week if it meant that Dick nor Alfred would catch the sight—or whiff—of him. Then Bruce eventually went on suppressants, and Dick had come to not even link Bruce with heats. 

Dick had only helped one omega with their heat before, Koriand’r. He couldn’t even put into words the feeling and desire that had pulsed through him being so close to an omega in the throes of heat, being trusted to take care of her. It was indescribable. 

Now, images are running through his head of Bruce. Dick wonders what he would look like—flushed, sweating, panting, crying? Would he even be coherent? What an absolute rarity it would be to see Bruce submit. 

Even with all these things turning over in his mind, Dick still hears the cautious footsteps behind him, poised to attack.

He spins around, metal baton centimeters from his potential attacker’s neck. 

“Pretty bird,” Slade chuckles, hands up in mock surrender. “What’s gotten your panties in a twist? It’s just me.”

Dick doesn’t move his baton, eyes narrowing dangerously, but Slade just laughs again. “Don’t worry, pretty bird. I’m not here to play this time.”

Dick reluctantly lowers his weapon. “Deathstroke,” he greets curtly. 

“Oh come on, Dicky. I thought we were on a first name basis by now.”

“Don’t same my name.”

Slade shrugs. “I prefer pretty bird anyway.” He lifts a hand to Dick’s cheek in an attempt to caress to the smooth skin there. Nightwing bats his hand away in annoyance. He’s always known that Slade has had a certain infatuation with him, extending all the way back to his time as Robin too. It never failed to make his skin crawl. 

“If you don’t need anything, I’ll be on my way,” Dick growls, shouldering past the mercenary. 

Slade follows him. “I can’t talk to my favorite hero?” Slade taunts, humor dripping from his lips.

Dick doesn’t dignify him with a response, picking up his pace before he leaps and flips onto the adjacent rooftop, hoping Slade will catch on that he does not want to talk. 

Slade is the alpha Dick hates and hopes he never becomes, an alpha who uses his dynamic as a weapon. His scent is violent, eye watering, and Dick has seen the way the mercenary revels in the way people squirm when he enters the room.

Slade follows him with ease. 

“Okay, okay,” Slade calls after him. “You win. I found you because I was worried.”

Dick does not slow.

“There’s been a lot of talk underground about your family if you catch my drift. Specifically, that daddy of yours.”

Now, Dick is interested. Slade was one of the _few _outside his pack who knew Nightwing’s identity. He didn’t worry too much about it anymore. He knew Deathstroke’s real name as well, and he doubted that the mercenary would ever out him. He sighs and turns to face Slade. 

“First of all, don’t call him that, but keep talking.”

Slade hums thoughtfully, crossing his arms over his massive chest. “I feel like I should get something in return, baby boy. Information is expensive,” he purrs. 

“What do you want?”

Dick hates Slade and his games. 

“What about a kiss?”

“I can give you a punch instead.”

“You drive a hard bargain, princess, but my original price still stands.”

Dick walks straight up to Slade and grips the other alpha’s chin in his hand, twisting it violently to the side and planting a feather light kiss to the cold metal of Slade’s mask. 

“That’s all you’re gonna get, so don’t push it,” Dick warns, shoving Slade away from him. 

He can’t see it, but he knows Slade is smiling underneath that mask. Slade sits down on the ledge, and Dick tries not to imagine himself pushing the alpha over. 

“Multiple informants have approached me that some  _ people _ are attempting to gather as much information about Bruce Wayne, and they have been doing this for the past month or so.”

“What kind of information?”

“The usual. Friends, family and pack,” Slade gives Dick a pointed look at this before continuing. “Hobbies, personality, daily schedule. And some more odd stuff like health history, blood type, and  _ dynamic _ . The list goes on and on.”

“Have you been approached?”

“I might have, but don’t worry, pretty bird. I would never do anything to hurt that Brucie of yours.”

“And the people who approached you? Who are they?”

Slade strokes his chin as if he is contemplating. Dick really wants to punch him. 

“Didn’t really introduce themselves. They were an odd bunch though. Even gave me the  _ shivers _ .”

“What did they look like?”

“Can’t tell you much there. They wore all black and refused to show their faces. Don’t know if they received much help. I, for one, like to know who I’m working with, but they were offering big money, so who knows? Somebody probably helped them out and did some snooping.”

Dick feels sick. This might be worse than he imagined. He would have to tell Bruce as soon as possible. 

Dick nods, deciding it is time to head back, taking off in a full sprint, ignoring Slade’s insistent calls. It was Thursday. He would see Bruce tomorrow. 

By the time he slips back into his apartment, sweaty and with neither Italian nor sandwiches to eat, he’s ready to collapse into bed, clad in Nightwing suit and all. 

To his surprise, Tim and Jason  _ are  _ still up. Dick peels off his domino mask as he slides through the window, eyes adjusting to the sudden light as Jason flips on the light switch. 

“Shit, Jay,” Dick curses, shutting the curtains behind him. 

Jason looks like he just woke up, hair resembling a bird’s nest. Tim is sprawled out on the couch, eyes wide and awake. 

“What are you two still doing up?” Dick aks, unzipping his suit. “And doing on the couch?”

“Tim wouldn’t let me sleep. He keeps asking me stupid questions,” Jason grumbles, dragging himself back over to the couch and collapsing next to Tim.

“They’re not stupid,” Tim deadpans.

Dick yawns. “It’s too late for this.”

“What are we?”

“What are we?” Dick echoes, finally shrugging off his skintight suit and stowing it away.

“See? I told you. Stupid question,” Jason grumbles again, eyes tightly shut and stray blanket pulled over both Tim and him.

Tim rolls his eyes, and gives Dick an expectant look. 

Truth be told, Jason and Dick never put a label on their relationship, never really felt the need. They were  _ mostly _ monogamous, but they always talked about everything. Tim was the prime example of their flexibility. 

Dick turns the lights back off, squeezing on the other side of Jason. Why they weren’t in his much bigger and more comfortable bed was beyond him. 

“We’re together, Tim. That’s really all there is to it,” he answers.

“Were you guys even interested in me before I kissed the both of you?”

Dick huffs before giving Tim a reassuring kiss on the temple. “Yes, little wing. Jason and I had actually talked about our mutual interest in you. We always tell each other when we think other people are attractive.”

Dick snuggles closer into the warmth. “Now go to sleep.”

“Who else have have you guys been interested in?” 

Jason groans into the arm rest. 

“If I tell you, will you go to sleep?”

Tim nods.

“Uh,” Dick starts as he racks his brain. “Donna Troy? Wally West?”

Both betas, both insanely gorgeous. Jason, Wally, and him had hooked up a couple of times but nothing serious. Tim raises an eyebrow, clearly not expecting those two. 

“Gar Logan and Barbs,” Dick continues. They were both omegas, sweet and beautiful.

Dick blames what comes from his mouth on pure exhaustion and the fact that his mind had been running all night long. “Bruce—shit.”

Jason bolts up, and Tim just looks amused. 

“Really, Dick?!” Jason says shocked that Dick would let a thing like that slip. 

It’s not that weird. Most packs that aren’t based on actual family bloodlines develop sexual and romantic bonds. It’s different for their pack because in the public eye, Bruce Wayne is their adoptive father and Tim, Jason, and Dick are technically “brothers” even though those parental and sibling bonds never actually fostered.

“If it’s any consolation, I think everyone who meets Bruce is at least a little bit attracted to him.”

Dick raises an eyebrow at Tim now. “Even you, Timmy?” Dick teases.

Tim’s blush is all the answer Dick needs. 

“Okay, now that we have established that we all get a hard on for Bruce, can we  _ please _ go to sleep.”

Dick chuckles, pats Jason’s cheeks, and finally closes his eyes. The three of them drift off into blissful dreams, wrapped in each other’s tight embrace. 

\---

The nightmares did not stop. They visited Bruce almost every time he closed his eyes, the same black abyss with the same smoky monster. And the  _ cold _ . Oh, the cold was unbearable. 

Bruce would wake in a cold sweat on the better nights, shaking but mind clear. On the bad nights, he would wake paralyzed in fear, the strange coldness sitting on his chest like a weight. On the worst nights, he wouldn’t be able to catch his breath, and he would drop  _ hard _ . He would stumble from his bed, legs collapsing beneath himself before he could reach the lights, and he would just lay there, curled in a tight ball, darkness enclosing him on all sides.

Alfred obviously noticed. Nothing escaped the man. Bruce could barely eat without feeling nauseous, had horrendous dark circles under his eyes, and had developed a sickly yellow pallor to his skin. Alfred pressured him to go see the doctor, and Bruce obviously refused.

The only control Bruce was able to take back was his time as Batman. Exactly a week after his attack, he was back on the streets of Gotham, patrolling and keeping the city safe. It was harder than it should be, running low on sleep and with no Robin to protect his back. 

After one in particular hard night of patrol, he had collapsed in the Batcave, exhaustion rattling his bones and shivers racking his body. He slept there that night, on the hard ground and still clad in his kevlar suit.

The next morning, Bruce had called Leslie Thompkins, the only medical professional he truly trusted and spilled mostly everything. He carefully avoided talking about his attack and the mysterious drugs, but told the women about the bond starvation and his new symptoms. 

“Fever, chills, chest pressure, and loss of appetite are all symptoms of the flu, Bruce. Bond starvation sometimes has the tendency to weaken the immune system which could explain why your symptoms are as bad as they are.”

That was Monday. He had thanked her and immediately tossed his suppressants and birth control. He had taken a handful of the hormone supplements even though the instructions only called for two per day. 

Now it was Friday, and Bruce felt a  _ little  _ bit better.

He had even talked to Diana about the case files, but with no more activity on this adversary’s side, the Justice League was at a standstill. Bruce would wait patiently for them to strike again, and then he would have them. Things would go back to normal. 

Bruce fidgets nervously at the dinner table as Alfred finishes up plating the food when he hears the front door opens. He hadn’t even realized that Alfred had buzzed Dick, Jason, and Tim through. 

Bruce stands as the three of them enter the kitchen, and he feels as if all the oxygen is sucked from the room. Alfred greets them all brightly, obviously missing them as much as Bruce had. 

Jason and Dick look different, older and more mature. Jason stands eye level with Bruce now, shoulders rolled back and head held high. His chest has filled out and he exudes the power typically of an alpha. 

Dick’s hair is longer, his bangs almost sweeping across his dark blue eyes. His smile is wide and bright as he hugs Alfred warmly.

Tim is the first to greet him. “Long time no see,” he jokes. “I’m glad you’re doing alright,” he says, referencing Bruce’s attack. 

He shrugs, not in the particular mood to talk about it. “It’s good to see all of you again,” Bruce says genuinely. 

Jason and Dick finally meet Bruce’s gaze. 

“Fuck, you look like shit,” is the first thing Jason says.

Dick smacks him upside the back of his head, viciously whispering something in Jason’s ear. 

Bruce clears his throat awkwardly. He had taken a long hot shower, hoping that would improve his appearance, but it looks like that failed.

“Ow,” Jason grumbles under his breath. “Um, what I mean to say is that you look kind of sick, Bruce. You okay?”

“I’m recovering from the flu, but I’m fine.”

That’s when Bruce notices the bags. Dick catches sight of his expression and answers.

“I didn’t really see the point in only coming for dinner, so I hope it's alright if we stay a few nights?”

Bruce blinks. He was not expecting that, but is pleasantly surprised. 

“Yes, of course as long as you guys want.”

_ This is still your home _ is what he wants to say but decides that’s too sappy. 

Alfred shushes them, ushering them over towards the table, where the food sits, hot and steaming. 

It’s...nice. 

Bruce didn’t know what he was expecting. Stilted, uncomfortable, and one-sided conversation perhaps. Maybe even furious screaming and arguments. There’s none of that. Probably because of Tim who seems just so bright and happy, bridging that gap between Bruce and his first two Robins. 

Conversation is smooth, and Bruce truly realizes how  _ much _ he missed their presence. The oppressive stillness and silence of the Manor had evaporated, leaving the omega feeling a bit floaty. He doesn’t know if its the hormone supplements or the fact that his home—his nest—is no longer empty. It’s most likely both. 

That night after hours of catching up, everyone finally retires to their rooms. 

Bruce is happy and finally goes to bed without that familiar dread and sensation that someone is watching him. He shuts his eyes and is swept quickly away into sleep.

Another nightmare is there to greet him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with writing the reunion scene, but I wanted it to be nice and with no drama. But drama should ensue in the next chapter (a steamy scene perhaps?). Hope you all have a great thanksgiving if you celebrate!


	8. Fill you up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason gets closer to Bruce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You CANNOT tell me that Jason does not have a choking kink. ahahaha unedited but please enjoy :)

Jason should be asleep.

He’s always had some trouble sleeping. Growing up in the east side of Gotham so close to Crime Alley meant always being vigilant, always looking over his shoulder, always being cautious. 

Even when Bruce took him in, he had trouble with sleep. He had nightmares about his mom, her convulsing and dying on the living room in front of him of an overdose. He would be paralyzed, not able to do a single thing to help her. 

The nightmares were the worst when he came back.  _ Dying really fucks with your mind. _ He was terrified of closing his eyes and never opening them again. He was terrified of the endless, infinite darkness, of no longer existing. 

Sometimes he would see the Joker and that god-awful clown smile, hear that manic laugh ring through his head. He would see that crow bar, gleaming overhead, as it came down over and over again, exploding pain everywhere. 

The nightmares waxed and waned, never leaving him, but sometimes becoming manageable. Bearable. 

Tonight sleep just wouldn’t come to him.

He slid from the warmth of Dick’s bed an hour ago to pace and down a glass of water. Now, he had wandered back upstairs and he promises he _ just so happened _ to be strolling by Bruce’s room when he heard it. 

Whimpers. 

Jason is not above eavesdropping, so that’s exactly what he does. The alpha holds his breath, pressing his ear up against the door. Yes, his ears are not fooling him—omega whimpers.

Coming from Bruce’s room. 

Jason hates to admit that his mind heads straight for the gutter. He imagines Bruce, relaxing against his satin sheets, beautiful and fit body bare and flushed, back arching and fingers stuffed into his dripping hole. 

Tim’s stupid questions last night had reminded of his stupid, little crush he has harbored for Bruce for  _ years _ , all the way back to his time as Robin. Bruce and him often fought. Hell, the first time they met, Jason through a fucking tire wrench at the Batman when he caught him redhanded, trying to steal the Batmobile’s tires. 

He often denied Bruce’s orders, and Bruce had yelled at him plenty of times for being too brash, too violent. But Jason Todd idolized the man, so he may be a bit of a knot head when it comes to Bruce.

Jason doesn’t know what to do. He could turn around, go back to bed, and pretend like he never heard a thing. That would be the best thing to do to respect Bruce’s privacy. 

Or he could knock on the door, but  _ why  _ would he do that?

_ Or _ he could take a peek.

Jason thinks his curiosity will be the death of him, so he chooses probably the worst choice, and turns the door knob, opening the door a crack and peering into the dimly lit room.

What he sees is not what he expects.

Bruce’s bed is empty, the sheets and blanket almost thrown completely off. He just barely makes out the sight of Bruce’s head on the other side of the bed. His back is pressed up against the side of the bed; he’s rocking back and forth, fingers tightly wound in his thick black locks. 

Whimpering. 

Jason probably stands there dumbfounded for a solid two minutes, eyes blinking rapidly and trying to decipher what he’s seeing. 

_ Is Bruce dropping?  _

Jason has come across many omegas in a midst of a drop. Living on the streets meant seeing a lot of things he probably shouldn’t have seen so young. Things like beaten, disowned, or homeless omegas, robbed of the pack bonds that are usually so crucial to an omega’s sanity and health. 

He’s broken up numerous sex trafficking rings, and found omegas who were in drops for  _ days _ .

Bruce looks like he’s dropping, but it’s so dark that he isn’t sure if his mind is playing tricks on him. 

“Bruce?” he calls, knuckles rapping lightly against the wood of Bruce’s door.

The sounds stop instantly. 

There is no response. 

“Bruce?” he calls again, pushing the door open a tad wider.

“Please don’t come in,” Bruce finally answers, voice rough but thin.

Jason freezes, half of his body leaning over the threshold. 

“Are you okay? I thought I heard—”

“I’m fine. Sorry I woke you up. I’ll be more quiet. You can leave now.”

Bruce is curt, and the finality of it pains Jason. Jason doesn’t budge, eyes staring at the back of Bruce’s head, praying that he just turns around, so Jason can see what’s wrong. 

“Are you dropping? Bruce, I heard you—”

It’s a stupid question to ask an omega who might be in the midst of dropping, but he doesn’t know how to approach the situation. Bruce and “dropping” just don’t associate themselves in his mind. 

“I was just talking to myself.”

It’s a horrible lie, especially coming from a man who has perfected the art of lying. Jason can hear the waver in Bruce’s voice, the sound of a dam about to burst wide open. 

“Bruce,” Jason says, voice dropping a pitch. 

Bruce stumbles to his feet and stalks over to the door, not meeting Jason’s gaze once.

“Goodnight, Jason,” he whispers before shutting the door in Jason’s face.

The click of the lock resonates through the Manor.

—

Jason won’t stop staring at him.

Tim, Jason, and Bruce are in the forensics lab in the Batcave as Tim hunches over a fluorescent microscope, carefully adjusting the settings to better analyze Bruce’s blood sample. He’s been doing that for the past fifteen minutes; Bruce is becoming anxious.

Of course, both of them don’t know it’s Bruce’s. The omega had vaguely explained to them the Justice League case he’s working on, only mentioning the brutality of the murders, its focus on omegas, and some strange drugs. They didn’t ask anymore questions, and Bruce was grateful for that. 

Tim hums to himself as he increases the brightness, face pulled taunt in concentration.

Jason is still staring at Bruce.

He stared at him during breakfast. He stared at him during lunch.

Now, he’s sitting in the corner, arms crossed over his chest, staring holes in the back of Bruce’s head. 

Bruce is humiliated, and is really trying his best to forget the fact that Jason walked in on him in one of the worst situations imaginable. He was a mess last night—a pathetic mess— and Jason saw him like that. He could hear the pity in the alpha’s voice.

He doesn’t know what Jason is thinking. He’s not sure if he wants to know. 

Tim hums again, and Bruce shifts uncomfortably in the chair.

“What blood type is the victim?”

“A,” Bruce quickly responds, not sure why the information is valuable.

A is obviously his blood type.

Tim nods, leaning back from the microscope to furiously type on the laptop next to him. He goes back to microscope after another minute, humming continuously.

Jason has not taken his eyes off Bruce.

The omega dares a peek back at the alpha. Green-blue eyes stare back at him, unflinching. Bruce swallows, mouth going dry. He breaks eye contact immediately. 

“Strange,” Tim drawls, rubbing at his eyes. 

“What is it?” Bruce presses.

“Well, the hospitals weren’t able to identify what’s in this victim blood because it doesn’t even resemble standard molecular compounds.”

“Well...what does it look like?”

“Well, I was looking for any mutations in the plasma that might indicate what kind of drug I am dealing with. I  _ thought  _ I was looking at the antigens that are produced by red blood cells, but not all of the antigens resemble A antigens.”

Jason stands up at this, coming to peer over Tim’s shoulder. “What are you saying, Timmy?”

“Well, antibodies are proteins produced by the plasma that fight off bacteria and viruses; it is an essential part of the immune system. There are two types of antigens and antibodies found in human blood, A and B. Some people only have A, others only B, some both, and some have neither, and they are O. “

“So, you’re seeing some B antigens when there should only be A or what?”

Bruce remains silence, conversation heading where he doesn’t want it to go. 

“Well, that’s the thing. These antigens and antibodies resemble neither A or B. It’s something completely foreign or from a different species entirely.”

“What does having the wrong antigens and antibodies mean?”

“That means the victim was given the wrong blood.”

Bruce’s blood goes cold. All of a sudden, he can hear the blood rushing through his veins, hear the beat of his heart, thunderously loud. He finally speaks.

“What kind of effects can that have?”

“Blood incompatibility is very serious. The first symptom is a sense of impending doom.”

Jason breaks out in laughter at this, breaking the tense atmosphere. 

“Impending doom? That’s an actual symptom?”

Tim nods, uncharacteristically serious. “It’s a real medical symptom. People who have suffered from severe allergic reactions, poisons or toxins, seizures, and heart attacks have described the sensation of ‘something bad’ about to happen. They’re experiencing most likely a flood of  catecholamines, hormones associated with stress.”

Jason looks mystified as he plops down in a chair. “That’s it? Stress?”

“No, that’s only the first symptom. Fever, chills, aches, and common flu-like symptoms follow usually. If the body’s immune system does not attack the foreign cells and the foreign red blood cells split and multiple, jaundice, the yellowing of the skin and eyes, will most likely occur and then eventually blood clotting.”

“How long does all of this usually take?”

Tim shrugs. “Two days maybe before things get serious and the patient needs to be rushed to the ICU. But these aren’t normal human antigens, death could be instantaneous, not fatal at all, or more slow moving. Bruce, were most of the victims experiencing these symptoms?”

_ No, just him and Ines Naudi.  _

“Yes. That’s very helpful. Thank you, Tim.”

Tim shrugs again. “It’s no problem. I’ll run some more tests to test for calcium, sodium, and glucose levels. But I think you’re dealing with something alien.”

Diana is right. Bruce nods, mutely. His mind is running a thousand miles per hour. He’s experiencing an ABO incompatibility reaction, and he might die from it. It’s been more than two weeks since his attack, so maybe he’s already dealt with the worst of it. 

_ A woman. Red hair. A ring. _

The visions of that strange woman has Bruce feeling jittery. He needs to do something to keep his mind and body busy. 

He stands up, muttering another thank you to Tim under his breath before he slides out of the lab, automatically heading towards the training room. He needs to punch something.

Jason follows him.

He walks into the training room, grabbing a roll of tape and wrapping his knuckles and wrists quickly. Jason stands in the doorway, watching Bruce like a predator. Bruce ignores him.

He waltzes up to one of the punching bags and begins hitting, turning his mind off. 

Well, he tries.

“You’ve lost weight,” Jason comments. He sounds closer, right behind Bruce.

Bruce knows. Every bite of food tastes like sand and weighs heavy in his stomach. If he can muster the strength to swallow down everything, he’s usually vomiting it up within the hour. 

Bruce swings harder, frustration thumping in his veins. 

“You smell different too,” Jason continues. 

That has Bruce faltering for a millisecond. It’s almost been a week since he’s been off suppressants and birth control. He also hasn’t applied any scent blockers for the past two days, but he hadn’t realized his omega scent had been coming through. 

Jason grabs his shoulders, spinning Bruce around.

“Let’s spar. We haven’t done it in awhile.”

Bruce rolls his eyes. “I am not fighting you, Jason.”

Jason steps back into a fighting stance, raising his fists to his face. 

“What? Why?” he taunts. “Getting too old?”

Bruce usually isn’t so easily baited, but Jason has been getting on his nerves all day. He lunges with a jab before he can think better. Jason blocks with ease, stupid cocky smile on his face.

Jason counters with a high kick, but Bruce dodges just in time and is able to land a solid hit to Jason’s chest. He stumbles back with an  _ oomph _ . 

Bruce uses Jason’s second of unbalance to swipe at his feet, and Jason falls back. The omega straddles the alpha, but Jason grabs his shoulders and uses Bruce’s momentum to flip him over.

They both scramble to their feet, panting and sweat begining to bead at their foreheads. 

Jason’s nose twitches, and Bruce wonders if his scent is becoming more pronounced with his sweat. Jason has never been around Bruce not on his suppressants, has never smelled his natural omega aroma. 

They circle each other for a moment, both waiting for the other to strike. 

Jason strikes first; Bruce fades right. 

They go back and forth awhile, neither completely gaining the upper hand. Bruce’s mind feels clearer, and he would hate to admit it, but it’s mostly a side effect from the alpha pheromones wafting through the air. 

Bruce doesn’t know how it happens, but before he can react, Jason has him pinned to the mat, face down and splayed out. Jason has both of Bruce’s writs in a death grip, his body and weight pressing into Bruce’s from chest to toes. 

Bruce struggles for a minute, but Jason doesn’t budge. The omega sighs and taps out reluctantly. 

Jason doesn’t move. 

Bruce then fully realizes the position the both of them are in—a pinned omega under an alpha. It suddenly feel ten times hotter in the room. Bruce clears his throat, turning his head to the side to get a better look at Jason, which in retrospect was a bad move, exposing his neck and mating glands in a typical submissive posture.

“Jason, you can get off me now,” Bruce protests weakly. 

The alpha pheromones are rolling off Jason in waves now, and Bruce’s head swims. His body almost goes limp in Jason’s hold.  _ This is not good _ .

“Jason,” Bruce says again, voice light and almost pleading. 

“Shut up for one second, Bruce,” Jason growls, and the sound is so close to Bruce’s ear that his next protest dies on his tongue. He holds his breath in anticipation. 

Bruce feels Jason hot breath ghost across his neck, and Bruce cannot help but squirm, a whine rising in his throat that he quickly squashes. 

Bruce should tell Jason  _ no _ , but it’s been so long since he’s been scented, so long since any alpha has held him down and marked him.

When he feels Jason cheek press against his own, he shudders, relishing in the gentle touch. Bruce tries to hold completely still as Jason rubs his cheek across Bruce’s neck, jaw, cheek, and glands. He’s soft but firm with his touch, and a haze falls over Bruce, and he forgets about everything. 

He forgets about his attack, about the case, about his illness.

It’s only him and his alpha. 

_ His alpha. _

Bruce cannot help the moan that tumbles from his mouth when he feels Jason hot lips against one of his glands, which are rapidly swelling, begging for a bite. The alpha softly nips at the juncture between his shoulder and neck.

“Fuck, Bruce. You smell so good.”

Jason’s voice is rough and heavy with arousal. 

Bruce is speechless, brain functions literally at 0%.

The omega cries out in pleasure as Jason licks a long wet strip from his neck to his ear, the act so primal, so possessive. He feels his underwear slowly soak with his wetness, and he would have been embarrassed if he didn’t feel Jason’s own arousal pressed against his ass. 

_ Wow, he’s big. _

He wants, needs Jason to take him here and now. Bruce has never been with an alpha, has never had submissiveness demanded out of him so naturally, so easily. 

“I can smell your slick, Bruce. How badly do you want this?”

Bruce arches his back, pressing his ass back against Jason’s bulge. A growl rips rips from Jason’s throat as he ruts back, and the friction of the mat against Bruce’s front combined with the hardness of Jason is too much. 

A cascade of whimpers fall from his mouth. It’s been so long since anyone has touched Bruce like this, like he was desirable, worth protecting. His eyes sting with tears, but he blinks them back. 

Bruce continues to grind his ass against Jason as the alpha begins to bite and suckle against his neck, no doubt leaving a mess of marks. He wants this.  _ So bad _ . 

His pants are no doubt soaked by now. His hole clenches at the thought of Jason just pulling down his pants and underwear in one go and plunging his cock into Bruce’s warm, tight heat. Bruce doesn’t even realize he’s shaking. 

He imagines Jason knotting him, and yearns to experience the sensation of something that huge pushing him apart for hours, pumping warm cum into his hole. He knows alphas typically don’t knot outside of an omega’s heat, but he wants it. 

Bruce begins rutting against the floor with a new frenzy without an ounce of shame. 

One of Jason’s hands finally lets go of Bruce’s wrists to instead wrap around Bruce’s throat. Bruce gasps as Jason squeezes violently, all the breath leaving Bruce’s lungs at once. It’s overwhelming.

He cums. 

Just as Dick opens the door wide to a trembling, sobbing Bruce. 

“Hey guys—oh shit.”

Bruce wants to disappear. Forever.

“Uhh. Dick, it’s not what it looks like,” Jason says without an ounce of confidence in his voice.

It’s exactly what it looks like. The sweet scent of Bruce’s slick and cum hangs heavy in the air, mixed with the strong and potent smell of Jason’s pheromones. Jason still has his hand wrapped around his neck.

_ Fuck _ .

Bruce throws off Jason, cringing horribly as he hears the squelch of his slick. His face is on fire, and he cannot bear to look at Dick’s face. The high he was on for a moment is now crashing down all around him. He stumbles to his feet, shoulders past Dick, and practically sprints to his room. 

\---

Jason is outside of Bruce’s room again. 

He’s been outside of his room all night. 

Bruce didn’t show for dinner, and Dick gave Jason an accusatory glance when Alfred told the three of them that Bruce wasn’t feeling well. The three of them ate in silence, Bruce’s absence hanging heavy on them. 

After Bruce had stormed out, no doubt with a new hate for Jason stirring in his gut, Dick had been nearly speechless. 

“Really, Jason,” he said, exasperated. “Without me?”

Jason was upset too, upset that Dick had the chosen literally the  _ perfect _ moment to walk in on Bruce and him. He hadn’t meant to take things as far as he did with Bruce. He just wanted to scent the omega, something that he usually never did. 

But  _ fuck _ . The sounds that Bruce was making? He wanted to mount Bruce right there. 

Now, it was eleven o’ clock, and Jason had been sitting outside Bruce’s room for over an hour, mustering up the courage to knock and apologize. 

Bruce is probably sleeping, but Jason knows he won’t get a lick of sleep if he doesn’t at least try. 

Jason stands up and knocks twice. He waits patiently. 

There is no response. 

He knocks again. He waits two minutes. Not a sound.

“Bruce, open up,” he calls, knocking louder and more insistently. 

No answer. 

“Fuck it,” Jason curses, throwing open the door since he has little to no boundaries. 

The room is empty.  _ Huh _ .

The door to Bruce’s bathroom is slightly ajar, a sliver of light sweeping into the dark room. Jason approaches, footsteps light and cautious. He grasps the doorknob and pulls it open to a sight that confuses him. 

Bruce is kneeling over his bathtub, head submerged in water. He’s grasping the edges of the tub in a white-knuckle grip.

Jason grabs the back of Bruce’s shirt, and pulls him from the freezing water. Bruce is pilant and shockingly does not protest or even say a word. He just kneels there, cold water dripping from his soaked hair and wetting his shirt and the tile floor beneath him. 

“Bruce, what are you doing?”

“Trying to wake myself up,” he responds. His speech is slow, tired. 

Jason grasps Bruce’s chin, forcing Bruce to meet his eyes. 

Unfocused. Dilated. Foggy. 

A drop. No doubt. 

Jason sinks to his knees, coming to Bruce’s level. He’s helped several omegas out of drops. Some had been hysterical; others catanoic. He’s also seen alphas leave omegas in drops. Omegas can come out of drops naturally by themselves, but then it will be so much easier the next time for the omega to drop.

_ How long has Bruce been dropping? And why? _

He peels of Bruce’s wet shirt. The man is shivering. Jason grabs a white, fluffy towel and begins to dry off the omega. 

“Can you tell me what happened?” Jason asks softly. 

“Had a nightmare.”

_ When did Bruce start having nightmares? _

“I get those a lot too.”

Jason wants to ask Bruce what his nightmare was about, but decides he doesn’t want Bruce to dwell on it. He berates himself. Tim had told both him and Dick that he thought something was up with Bruce. Jason almost didn’t want to believe him, but the beta was right. 

After Jason dries him off, the omega continues to shake and quiver. He stands Bruce up, and Jason watches as he sways dangerously on his feet before practically collapsing in Jason’s awaiting arms. The alpha basically drags the omega to his bed, tucking the warm blankets around him.

Bruce still shivers.

“I don’t want to go to sleep.”

Jason’s heart breaks. 

“I’m not going to leave you. Don’t worry.”

Jason kicks off his shoes, and slides into bed behind Bruce, wrapping an arm around Bruce’s torso. He knows if Bruce was in sound mind, he would not have allowed this to happen, but Jason will enjoy the chance to take care of his omega. 

_ Shit _ , did he really just think “his omega”?

Bruce’s skin is icy cold and peppered with goosebumps, but he relaxes into Jason’s embrace, eyes fluttering shut. Jason doesn’t say anything, just allows his presence and warmth to soak into Bruce’s skin. In the morning, he will talk with Dick and Tim. 

For now, he’ll hold onto Bruce as long as he needs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, a little comfort now??? the most consistent comment I get is "poor Bruce," but hopefully this chapter was a little more "poor Bruce" with some "yay, comfort." I was gonna have two steamy scences, but I had to limit myself. What do you guys want/think is going to happen next? More hurt? More comfort? Plot maybe?


	9. It's getting better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce has some bad thoughts. Dick and Bruce get into an argument.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally just brain dumped all of this, so if something does not make sense, please ask questions. A lot more hurt, with a little comfort and plot at the end. I think I scared lots of you that Bruce was either pregnant or dying, so this chapters will probably answer some of those questions. UNEDITED but please enjoy

Bruce wakes up with an unfamiliar heat simmering underneath his skin.

It drags him from his sleep, rousing him from blissful blankness. The first thing he notices is that Jason isn’t lying in bed with him, but the spot next to Bruce is still warm, indicating that the alpha didn’t leave too long ago.

Bruce resists the urge to pout. A quick glance over at his clock tells him that it’s almost past noon. Bruce usually never sleeps this late, and Jason probably had stuff to do.

A hint of humiliation still lingers from yesterday from both Dick walking in on the both of them rutting and Jason once again finding him in the depths of a drop. He knows the alpha has questions, no doubt confused about what he saw.

But the warmth that blooms in his chest at the security and stability he felt last night has Bruce wanting to crawl back into the alpha’s embrace and forget about everything. He imagines Jason’s strong, thick arms caging him in, shielding him from the world.

The next thing Bruce realizes is that his underwear is soaked in slick. 

The omega huffs indignantly as he shifts around, a deep ache shaking his bones and pulling a small cry from his lips. Bruce throws off his sheet and looks down, cheeks flushing at the sight of the outline of his erect cock in his pants and a little stain of slick between his thighs. The back of Bruce’s brain wishes Jason was still here to take care of him. 

Without any preamble, the omega shucks off his pants, whimpering as the cool air brushes against his warm skin. Bruce goes quickly to work and plunges two fingers in his weeping, pink hole, an unabashed moan ripping from his vocal cords.

The memory of yesterday floods his mind—of Jason scenting him, kissing his neck, holding his wrists so tight Bruce couldn’t even budge, of pushing that wonderful cock right against the cleft of his ass. 

Of Dick walking in on them. But instead of storming out, Bruce imagines Dick stopping him and throwing him onto his hands and knees right there on the mats without a word. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” the Dick in his mind would eventually say. 

The two of them would fuck him there.

Jason would pound him from behind, fingers digging into the flesh of his hips, leaving marks and bruises that would last for days. Bruce’s stray hand wanders to his neck, fingers pressing against the red and purple hickeys Jason left at the base of his neck, so close to a mating gland. He lets out a high keen, fingers curling and dragging against his prostate oh so nicely.

Dick would force his mouth wide, one hand gripping the back of his neck and the other fisting Bruce’s hair. He would fuck his mouth without pause until he was a drooling, crying mess. Bruce wonders what his skin would taste like, what his cum would feel like down his throat. 

He would be good for them, and they would praise him for it, for pleasing his alphas. 

Bruce adds a third finger, mewling softly at the burn of the stretch. He wonders how big Jason would be. The feeling of him pressed against Bruce yesterday had been daunting but had the omega twitching for more. Bruce hopes he would be able to take all of him. 

Bruce finally grasps his own cock, red and swollen, pumping furiously to the images of Dick and Jason using him. It takes two strokes before the omega is sobbing in release, his climax hitting him hard, images of the alphas cumming deep inside him.

Bruce lies there, breaths coming in shaky gaps and thighs quivering in pleasure.

In one second, he’s floating, head spinning and body as light as a feather. 

In the next second, he’s crashing down as an enormous wave of guilt and shame washes over him.

He feels gross. He doesn’t even know if Jason, Dick, or Tim even experience any sort of sexual desire or attraction for him. Yes, Jason and him had humped each other like horny puppies yesterday, but a part of Bruce knows that Jason was just reacting naturally to his omega scent and the position both of them stumbled into. 

Bruce is well into his forties, gray hair beginning to pepper itself slowly at his temples. Jason and Dick are in their early twenties, and Tim just barely eighteen.  _ Eighteen _ .

He looks down at the semen drying on his stomach and cringes. He feels like an old, perverted man, lusting after his Robins. He feels dirty.

Bruce rolls out of bed, beelining towards his shower and stepping into the cold spray of the water. He washes his body vigorously, ridding his body of any evidence of his shame. 

When he steps back out, there is still a hum of heat under his skin and a curl of arousal in his gut. Bruce blinks, realization dawning on him. 

_ He’s in pre-heat.  _

_ So soon? _

He’s only been off suppressants for a week now, but he supposes the new onslaught of alpha pheromones he’s been inhaling has brought about an early heat. Bruce feels his heart pick up in pace.

It’s been  _ years  _ since his last heat.

Heats are high on his list of things he hates about being an omega. The fact that he becomes so weak, lethargic, and obedient to any alpha’s or beta’s whim is terrifying. His pre-heat usually lasts two days before he loses most of his coherency and falls into the grips of desire. 

Bruce opens his medicine cabinet, staring at his bottle of suppressants for a second too long. He could down a handful right now and thwart his heat. The side effects would probably be painful, but he considers, fingers twitching against the granite countertop. 

He sighs and instead grabs his scent blockers and inhibitors, sticking the transparent patches to his collarbone and spraying the scent neutralizing mist all over himself. 

He would make arrangements at the Essex Hotel as soon as possible, where he could suffer through his heat in privacy. 

Bruce goes back to his bedroom, ruffling through his closet. He pulls on a pair of jeans and flinches, the rough texture rubbing against his skin in all the wrong ways. 

He forgot how sensitive he becomes during pre-heat. 

Bruce throws off the jeans and decides on a pair of sweats and a high collar cotton shirt. 

He wants to be productive today, so he leaves his room, bounding down the stairs to his study. Bruce opens the door to find Dick sitting at his desk, arms crossed over his chest and quizzical look across his features. Bruce freezes, door slamming shut behind him.

“We need to talk.”

\---

Dick feels like a valuable piece to the puzzle he’s constructing in his mind is missing. 

This is what he knows.

First, Bruce was attacked by unknown perpetrators, who used heat inducers on him and God knows what else. He’s pretty sure he is the only one Bruce has told about the heat inducers part. He imagines telling Tim or worse, Jason, and worries about their reactions. 

Second, he knows, courtesy of Slade, that some group of people have been gathering various information on Bruce. Most likely the same group of people who attacked him. Something that Bruce does not know. 

The attack was premeditated and served some purpose. He just knows it. 

And thirdly, he now knows, courtesy of Jason, that Bruce has been experiencing nightmares and fucking  _ drops _ . 

_ Drops _ . 

Anger stirred inside of Dick when Jason told him and Tim. Dick had seen an omega drop once, Garfield Logan—Beast Boy. It was after a particularly bad fight during his time with the Teen Titans. Raven was hurt badly, and Gar had blamed himself. Dick and Victor found him curled in one of the bathtubs in the tower, shaking and deadly silent. 

Dick hated the sight. 

However, Dick is not sure if Bruce’s attack is the sole cause of his nightmares and drops. The man has been fighting as Batman for a long time, and those two things had never come up before.

Unless Bruce has been hiding this for a long time.

So, he decides to corner the omega with the mission of squeezing out the truth. 

“We need to talk,” he tells Bruce when the omega slips into his study.

Bruce freezes as the door shuts closed behind him, clearly not expecting Dick to be there waiting for him. There’s a flush to Bruce’s cheeks, which looks good on him, especially considering that the omega has harbored a deathly yellow hue all weekend. 

Dick’s eyes dip lower, eyes ghosting over Bruce’s neck, frowning when he realizes that Bruce specifically picked a shirt that hides the marks Jason no doubt left. He likes the idea of Bruce marked up. His eyes go lower, widening at the sight of Bruce’s chest—nipples hard and areolas swollen obscenely from behind his thin shirt. 

Dick gulps, willing his eyes to go back up to meet Bruce’s gaze. The blush on Bruce’s cheeks intensifies, and Dick realizes he’s been caught staring, and that Bruce is  _ still  _ waiting for him to say something. The omega speaks first.

“Dick. If this is about yesterday, I am sincerely—”

Dick cuts him off, waving his hand. “I really don’t mind.”  _ It was probably the hottest thing he’s seen so far.  _ “It’s about your attack.”

Bruce’s demeanor shifts, and Dick can literally see him becoming closed off. 

“It’s concerning that all the video tapes in the vicinity of my attack were obviously tapered with, but I think this was a one-time thing to scare me, so there is no need to worry. I’ve almost forgotten about it.”

Dick tilts his head, detecting the lie. He really doubts Bruce has “forgotten” about it. The man is always committed to getting to the bottom of things, and the lack of closure and information must be frustrating him. 

“Well, I haven’t forgotten about it. Is there anything you aren’t telling me?” Dicks words are slow, calculated. His hands are gripping the arms of the chair dangerously tight. 

It’s Bruce’s turn to offer a quizzical look. “No.” His voice is sharp and confident. 

Dick pushes. “Are you sure you don’t remember anything about the attack? How many people? Weapons?”

Dick is sure that Bruce is withholding information. 

Bruce clenches his jaw. “Are you accusing me of misleading you about my attack?” Bruce’s voice is deadly low, clearly upset at Dick’s probing questions.

Dick groans, rising to his feet. “Of course not, Bruce.” He sighs. “I just don’t think you are telling me everything you know about that night.”

“You know as much as me.”

“Bullshit.”

Bruce raises an eyebrow, challenging Dick. Dick takes a step towards the omega.

“For example, I know that you didn’t tell me you were  _ drunk  _ that night.”

Bruce’s facial expression does not change in the slightest. “I didn’t think it was important.”

“You never drink that much. What was going on?”

Bruce’s eyes flutter shut for a brief moment. Dick doesn’t know if he’s trying to calm himself down or if he’s imagining that night all over again.

“Nothing was.”

“Stop fucking lying to me.”

Dick’s temper is rising. He hates conversations like these, like he’s talking to a brick wall. Bruce’s next words are quiet, almost inaudible.

“I was upset.”

“About what?”

Bruce rolls his eyes. “Nothing you should concern yourself with. I’m over it.”

Dick takes another step towards the omega. “If something has been bothering you, Bruce, you can tell us. You know that, right?”

Bruce doesn’t say anything. Dick takes another step until there only a few feet apart. 

“Right?”

“Dick, you haven’t been to the Manor in over a year, Jason even longer, despite my attempts to invite you both over multiple times. Tim is now basically moved out too. When we talk on the phone, it is usually always about work. So, no. I don’t typically think to talk to you guys when _ I’m upset. _ ”

Dick opens his mouth, but no words come out. He does not know how to respond to that. He didn’t even know Bruce felt like that. 

“It’s alright though. I know I haven’t been the most...kind guardian over the years. I didn’t really make the Manor a place that you would want to stay. That’s my fault. I am not alone however. I have Alfred.”

Dick nods, dumbly. He’s never been at a loss for words this bad. This was not how he wanted this conversation to go. Dick knows he should say something comforting, but a feeling akin to shame settles in his stomach. So, he changes topic like the idiot he is. 

“People have been gathering information about you.”

Bruce blinks, clearly shaken at the random comment. “What?”

“A group of individuals have been inquiring about various aspects of your life. They have been asking mercenaries, spies, gangs, and other criminals for information about you as Bruce Wayne.”

Bruce’s mouth hangs slightly agape as he slowly processes the news. 

“And how did you gather that information?” Bruce asks. 

It’s a simple question, but Dick hesitates long enough to become suspicious. 

“Just someone else in vigilante life. Doesn’t matter, but Bruce, I think you are—”

“A name. Please.”

Dick rolls his eyes. “He likes to remain anonymous, okay?”

Bruce shakes his head. “I don’t know if what  _ he  _ is saying is true. I don’t know if this person can be trusted.”

Dick curses at his slip. And no, Deathstroke typically cannot be “trusted,” but the man rarely lied, especially to Dick. 

“You can trust me though, can’t you?”

“Yes, of course. I do. And if you trust me then you would tell me.”

Dick groans. He hates when Bruce uses his own words against him. He knows Bruce won’t like the answer. He knows it, but does it anyway. 

“Deathstroke.”

If looks could kill, Dick would be six feet under. 

“When did you get so buddy-buddy with a murderer?” Bruce’s words are cold and hurt. 

Dick throws up his hands in exasperation. “This is why I couldn’t tell you!”

“You are listening to a man who kills for money, Dick. He will say anything to fulfill his agenda.”

“What fucking agenda?!” Dick snaps. He’s in Bruce’s face now, but the omega remains stationary, as still as a statue. “Please enlighten me, Bruce. I don’t like him a whole bunch either, but just because he kills does not mean his words mean nothing.”

“That’s exactly what that means, Dick. He has no morals.”

Dick also knows that is untrue. Slade does abide by some type of ethical code even though Dick may not agree with the contents. He doesn’t tell Bruce that though. Slade is not worth defending. 

“I don’t give a fuck about Deathstroke, Bruce. I am just worried about you.”

“There is nothing to worry about. I told you already. I. Am. Fine.”

Both of their voices have raised in volume, and he prays that Tim, Jason, and Alfred are far away enough not to hear.

“Then why the hell are you having nightmares and  _ dropping _ ?”

The only words to describe Bruce’s expression is betrayal. The omega takes a slight shuffle back, eyes widening and expression twisting into something painful. 

“Jason told you that?”

It’s phrased as a question as if the omega cannot believe that Jason would share such a thing. Dick wants to feel regret, but can’t muster up the feeling. He’s glad Jason told him. 

“And Tim,” he continues. “Because it’s something we should know as  _ pack _ .”

Dick nearly spits the word out, trying to shove in Bruce’s stubborn head that not only are they family, they are pack. 

Bruce’s eyes harden at the words. “You aren’t entitled to know every little thing about me. I deserve some goddamn privacy.”

There’s a growl bubbling in Dick’s chest. “You want us to pack up our bags and leave then? You’re fucking bipolar, Bruce. One second, you’re bitching about us never coming over, but you have this fucking wall around yourself and won’t let us in.”

Dick knows his words are cruel and out of line, but he’s so  _ angry _ . Bruce is rapidly blinking his eyes. 

“You have this fucking martyr complex, Bruce! It’s like you love suffering all alone and are physically incapable of showing any feeling. It’s fucking infuriating, and you’ve done it for years, Bruce.  _ Years _ .”

He’s nearly chest to chest with Bruce, having pressed the omega all the way against the study room’s door. 

“I’m sick of it. Fucking sick of it. And I know Jason and Tim are too.”

Dick finishes his rant and realizes how hard he’s panting. Bruce and him had fought before, but it usually consisted of Bruce berating Dick and not the other way around. 

He expects Bruce to explode or worst storm out and ignore Dick for the rest of the day. He does neither. 

“Please don’t leave.”

His voice is shaky, almost a whimper. He’s never heard Bruce make a sound like that. He feels weird. He doesn’t like it.

“I-I uhh didn’t mean to make you feel like that. I’m s-sorry.”

In all of his years of life, Dick had never heard Bruce stutter. He never imagined he would. He has also rarely heard Bruce apologize. Dick temporarily thinks he’s been transported to an alternate dimension. 

_ Is he scaring Bruce? _

He takes a small step back, realizing he was probably too close and too loud. He also realizes Bruce is trembling, eyes downcast and looking at his shoes. 

A typical submissive omega posture to placate an angry alpha—voice small, body still, and eyes downward. 

“Bruce, please don’t...do that.”

Bruce is rubbing his biceps in a comforting gesture; it makes him look small. He doesn’t even look like he registered what Dick said. He begins rocking back and forth on his heels, teeth biting onto his bottom lip.

“I’m sick.”

Dick feels his whole world tilt. His mind goes blank before a thousand questions and scenarios run through his mind.  _ Cancer? Heart disease? Infection? Bruce dying? _

He can’t fathom it. Bruce dying. He knows that his whole pack is involved in a dangerous profession, and it only takes one patrol or mission for things to go drastically wrong. He experienced it with Jason. 

He doesn’t know if he could go through it again.

“A-And I’m not just saying that to force you to stay. I don’t want to corner you guys to be with me. I’m...actually sick.”

Dick doesn’t know if he should jump in and say anything or just let Bruce ramble. He chooses the later.

“I kind of already had a feeling before, but um the doctor said that my omega hormones are low. Dangerously low.”

Hormones naturally decrease as one ages, but this is obviously more serious.

“I’ve been feeling...s-sad for no reason really. Also I’ve been anxious and paranoid. Food tastes awful, and I hate leaving the house. I just want to curl in a ball and d-disappear sometimes. I just started having these drops, and I’ve been trying to deal with them on my own, but I guess I’m too loud sometimes, and I wake up Jason and bother him.”

Dick knows that’s not true. Jason struggles with sleep on the occasion and likes to pace to make himself tired. 

“The doctor said it’s bond starvation, but I’m d-dealing with it. I’ve stopped taking my suppressants, and I’m on hormone supplements, so I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.”

Bruce sounds like he’s trying to convince himself rather than Dick.

Bond starvation.

Everything makes a little more sense.

And everything feels a whole lot worse.

He  _ knows _ omegas feel pack bonds much more acutely than the other two dynamics, but Bruce was never the type to get attached. 

He was fucking wrong, and now Bruce is sick with bond starvation because he’s been neglecting his duty as alpha.

To protect. To care.

He still hasn’t said anything, mind moving a million miles per hour.

“My...heat is c-coming. It should be here in two days, so I’ll be going tomorrow to nest and all t-that. But please don’t leave. D-Don’t leave.”

That explains the flushed cheeks and swollen chest. Dick doesn’t even have the mental capacity to fantasize about Bruce in heat, the term “bond starvation” keeps turning over in his mind. 

“Bond starvation?” Dick echoes like an idiot.

Bruce nods, head still down and staring at the ground.

“Bruce, would you please look at me? I hate that.”

Dick raises his gaze to Dick’s face but still cautiously avoids his eyes. He sighs. He won’t press more.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I think by the very definition of bond starvation makes it my fault.”

“Please...don’t say that.”

He should touch him, reaffirm their connection, but he also just did scream at the omega and force him in the fucking awful demure mindset. He doubts that his presence nor his touch would bring much comfort. 

“You shouldn’t be alone for your heat.”

Bruce should know that too. Heats—biologically—is a period in which an omega’s fertility is at its peak which leads to heightened sensitivity, swollen chests, and stronger scents to attract alphas or betas for mating. Typically, omegas gain a considerable amount of weight leading up to their heats—ten or fifteen pounds—to balance the fact that they will spend a lot of energy during their heat.

Bruce has noticeably lost weight. Coupled with the fact that heats are meant to be spent with another, bond starvation will only amplify the loneliness of a heat spent in solitude. Dick doesn’t even think Bruce will be able to properly take care of himself. It’s been years since the man has gone into heat.

“Jason would love to help you,” he offers. _ Or me. Or Tim. Or all of us. _

Bruce shakes his head. “That would be inappropriate.” 

Dick raises his eyebrow, images of Bruce shuddering and moaning as he climaxed underneath Jason still  _ very _ vivid in his mind. Bruce realizes this and clears his throat.

“Yesterday was a mistake. It won’t happen again.”

“A mistake? Why?”

“Dick, you guys are practically my so—”

“Please don’t say that word unless you actually view us that way.”

Bruce keeps his mouth shut. That’s what Dick thought. 

“We’re pack. It’s perfectly normal to feel this way about each other.”

Bruce is wringing his hands. “I’m almost double your age, Dick. I don’t want to force you guys into anything because you think you have some sort of obligation towards me. It makes me feel like a—”

Dick shuts him up with a kiss. 

It seems like the right thing to do considering that Bruce is stubborn enough not to see that all three of his Robins want him. 

It’s a simple kiss at first, just both of them pressing their closed lips against each other, but then Bruce makes this beautiful, quiet gasp and Dick cannot resist taking advantage. He deepens their kiss, hands coming up to wrap around the omega’s waist and in turn the omega’s hands grasp at Dick’s shoulders. 

Bruce’s mouth is surprisingly soft and pliant as he follows Dick’s lead. The alpha brings their bodies close until they are pressed against each other, and Bruce gasps again, this time sounding more pained.

Dick pulls back, worry lacing his voice. “I’m sorry. Did I—”

“No, no, um. My…” he gestures to his chest, and Dick once again looks at those gorgeous, puckered nipples peeking through his shirt. “They’re a bit sensitive,” he finishes. 

Dick has an idea.

He pushes the omega up against the door, hitching his cotton shirt up until its bunched underneath his armpits. “Dick, what are you doing?”

The alpha shushes him. “Can I touch them?” he asks, leaning down, warm breath fanning over the pink nipples. After a moment of contemplation, Bruce nods wordlessly. 

Dick takes the left nipple in his mouth, sucking gently on the warm skin. 

And Bruce makes this amazing keen in the back of his throat, the sound going straight to Dick’s cock. 

Dick’s other hand comes up to pinch the right nipple, rolling the pink bud between his fingers. Bruce whimpers, fingers carding through Dick’s hair as he puffs his chest out. 

Dick alternates between the two, sucking and biting on one and abusing the other with his hand until both of Bruce’s nipples are red, puffy, and shining with the alpha’s saliva. Bruce pants, leaning heavily against the door to keep himself upright.

Dick’s eyes travel lower to the bulge in Bruce’s pants. He must be wet too, and one long sniff confirms Dick’s suspicions. The sultry, sweet scent of omega slick is thick in the air, and Dick’s mouth waters. He wants to taste, bend Bruce over his own desk, face down, and lap up his wetness. 

Dick grips the waistband of Bruce’s sweatpants about to rip them down when Bruce suddenly grasps his wrist. “Wait, stop.” 

Dick instantly stills, wondering what he did wrong.

The omega licks his lips and pushes his shirt back down to cover his torso. “I think you and Jason are sending me into an early heat. I need at least a day to prepare and all.”

“No need. We’ll take care of you.”

“Dick,” Bruce says seriously. “I am not exactly comfortable spending my heat with...anyone. I especially don’t want you guys seeing me like that.”

“Like what?”

“No control. I’ll do anything someone tells me to do without a second thought.”

“We would never do anything to abuse you or take advantage of you.”

“I know. Of course, I know, but I’m still not...ready to share a heat with someone. Please respect that.”

Dick nods. Heats were almost a sacred thing. That’s why he felt so blessed that Kori had trusted him to take care of her, but he would never tell an omega how to spend his or her own heat.

That doesn’t mean he wasn’t immensely worried about Bruce’s health.

“Don’t hesitate to call if something goes wrong then.”

Bruce nods as soon as there is a knock on the door. Bruce straightens up, smoothing out his shirt even though it’s almost pornographic the way his nipples show through. 

“Come in,” he calls.

It’s Tim. His bright, shining face peeking from behind the door. He looks at Dick then at Bruce then back at Dick, and something in his mind clicks, a pink hue rising to his cheeks. 

“Am I interrupting something?”

They both shake their heads. Tim gives them a disbelieving look, but doesn’t question them further. He takes a deep breath in, and his blush reddens, obviously smelling the scent of arousal around them. 

“Uh, Bruce. I finished the rest of the blood tests for that case you are working on if you want me to show you?”

_ What case? _

Bruce smiles, “Yeah, that would be great.”

Bruce follows Tim out, leaving Dick stranded in the study room, mind still twirling. 

_ Why does he still feel like he’s missing a piece of the puzzle? _

He’ll have to do his own investigating. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aahahaha I love how I make them go from screaming at each other to making out. I have not written some Tim in awhile, and I feel like I should have a final scene between the two before Bruce goes off to have his heat. What do you guys think? Comment below your thoughts!


	10. Then it gets much worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim has some insecurities. Bruce checks into the Essex Hotel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter can have some potentially trigger things, so please skip to the end notes for all the chapter-related triggers (beware that will contain spoilers).
> 
> Sorry for posting later than usual! I had finals for like two weeks and just went on vacation. I hope you guys are still excited to read. I was super excited to write this chapter, so sorry if the plot seems rushed. There was a lot that I wanted to write about. This is UNEDITED, so please excuse the typos. If there are any glaring mistakes (like switching names, I do that a lot), feel free to point those out to me.

Tim is jealous. 

It’s uncharacteristic of him. He’s always been pretty grateful for what he’s had. Sure, he’s dealt with loss, but on the other hand, he’s been graced with his relationship with Jason and Dick, his job at Wayne Enterprises, a stable home, and the blessing of being at Batman’s right hand side as Robin.

Jason always likes to tease him about being the “baby” of the pack who gets everything he wants and doesn’t have to deal with Bruce’s wrath like the first two Robins did. 

It’s only  _ partly  _ true. Even he admits that maybe he’s a bit spoiled in comparison to Jason and Dick.

However, Tim is genuinely jealous this time around, a kind of jealous that makes his blood hot and gets his fists clenched.

He wants Bruce  _ bad _ , and it's not fair that Jason and Dick, who’ve been ghosting Bruce for more than a year, got a taste of him already.

_ Before him? Really? _

He hates to objectify Bruce into a thing to be passed around or used for sex, and he also hates to be upset about that fact that Bruce’s relationship with Jason and Dick has been rekindled—faster and definetly in a different manner that he had been expecting. 

_ But,  _ opening the door to Bruce’s study and seeing the flush of his cheeks, his rumpled clothes, hardened nipples poking through his shirt, and smelling the scent of both Bruce and Dick’s arousal had been like dousing Tim’s burning desire for Bruce with gasoline. 

Added to the fact that he also knows that Jason and Bruce had hooked up, courtesy of Jason’s slightly smug bragging, has Tim feeling like the odd man out. 

He’s always compared himself to alphas. It was inevitable, considering the two people who carried the mantle of Robin before him were alphas. A part of Tim has always felt that he wouldn’t be able to live up to the expectations because of his dynamic. 

Betas are usually swept aside in popular mainstream media and culture. It’s always alphas “this” and omegas “that.” Betas are boring, and betas should mate betas. 

Tim has always felt to a certain degree...inadequate. 

Which he knows is stupid, but when it comes to amazing, beautiful, and strong omegas like Bruce, it’s no wonder that he’s attracted to strong and dominant alphas like Jason and Dick.

Not boring betas like Tim Drake. 

Tim huffs, confidence plummeting for the second time this morning as he paces anxiously outside of Bruce’s door. 

He imagines himself throwing that door wide open, pushing Bruce on his king-sized bed, and having his way with the omega. 

He raises his fist to the door, takes in a deep breath and then shakes his head, hand dropping down to his side. 

The door opens anyway, Bruce standing tall in the doorway, eyebrows raised.

“I’ve smelt you for the past five minutes just loitering outside my door. You reek of nervousness,” Bruce says bluntly.

Tim clears his throat, but words fail him. 

Bruce stands there, waiting patiently for a moment before he takes mercy on Tim and steps to the side, allowing the beta inside.

Tim nods, hesitantly walking inside the omega’s den, a weird concoction of an omega’s natural sweetness and the bitterness of scent blockers mixing in the air. 

A suitcase is splayed across Bruce’s bed, half full of clothes and toiletries. Tim scans the rest of the room, noting the open closet and the clothes hanging out of the dresser. The window is slightly ajar, fresh but chilly air softly wafting in. 

Tim stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, hands clasped behind his back as his mind scrambles for what to say and what to do. 

Bruce shuts the door with a heavy click that has Tim swallowing. Bruce doesn’t pay him any mind as he continues packing his suitcase. He’s dressed comfortably, in a pair or black sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt. 

The jealousy that had burning brightly in Tim’s chest simmers down as a wave of confusion washes over him. 

“Where are you going?” is the first thing out of Tim’s mouth. 

Jason and Dick had been here only a little over three days now, and Dick had told them both that they would be staying indefinitely since Jason revealed that Bruce had been dropping. 

_ Dropping _ . 

When Jason had revealed that to the two of them, he had been shocked and the familiar sensation of inadequacy had fallen on him again. 

Of all people, Tim should have known. He doesn’t know how long Bruce has been dropping, but he, of the three of them, had been around Bruce the most. How blind must he have been not to notice that the omega was suffering?

And now something is itching at the back of Tim’s brain. The question of  _ why _ echoing through his thoughts and bouncing across his head. He thinks of Bruce’s attack and the mystery surrounding it. Bruce had played it off to them as a little stunt to scare the big and bad Bruce Wayne. 

Tim also thinks of other things that could be stressing the omega, and the first thing that comes to mind is the case. He had been vague about that too, but Tim had picked up on the gravity of the situation.

Now, that he’s thinking about it…

“A hotel,” Bruce answers simply as he glides over to the side of the room and begins shutting his dresser drawers. 

Tim looses his train of thought as he dumbly blinks back at Bruce. “Why?” he responds. 

Bruce throws him a pointed look. “For someone who has amazing deductive reasoning skills, Tim, you sure can miss the obvious.” The omega gives a small chuckle, and Tim finds his heart clenching at the beautiful sound. 

When Tim doesn’t respond, Bruce fills him in. “I’m going into heat. Soon,” he says bluntly, long fingers running through his black locks. 

“Oh,” Tim says shortly. “ _ Oh _ ,” he repeats when that fact finally hits him. 

Bruce finally turns to face him. “Is everything alright?”

Tim rubs the back of his head, trying really hard not to think of Bruce in heat.  _ Think something not sexy. Not Sexy. The Joker naked or something. Anything please.  _

Tim clears his throat. “I thought you were on suppressants?”

“I was, yes.”

“Oh, okay.”

There’s another awkward beat of silence. 

“And you go away for your heats?”

Tim couldn’t help but think that wasn’t healthy, especially if Bruce had been dropping lately, but then something else hits him.

“Is Dick or Jason going with you?”

Tim cringes at the insecurity that peeks through the strained words, and Bruce notices it too, leaning against his dresser and giving the beta an odd look, arms crossed over this chest. 

“Yes, I have always gone away for my heats, and no, Jason nor Dick is accompanying me.”

Tim nods, slightly relieved even though he doesn’t know why. 

“If one of them were, would that upset you?”

Tim shakes his head vigorously, waving off that thought. “No, of course not! I was just curious, that’s all, even though it’s none of my business of course. I—”

“Tim, if it makes you uncomfortable, please tell me.”

“No, no, no. It’s really none of my business, and I don’t care who you…” Tim trails off, waving his hands in the air as if that will convey his thoughts accurately. 

Tim actually  _ does _ care—to a certain degree. He really only wants Jason, Dick, and himself to be the ones touching and taking care of Bruce like that. 

“What did you want to talk about?”

“Huh?” Tim says as Bruce shifts topics. 

“You knocked on my door,” Bruce reminds Tim. “Is there something you wanted to talk about?”

Tim really doesn’t want to talk pe rse. He just really just wants to kiss Bruce silly, or push him up against the wall and suck him off, or push him down on the bed and fuck him, or—

“Tim?” Bruce says questioningly, startling Tim out of his thoughts. “You got this look in this eye as if you are really thinking about something? Are you alright?”

Tim blushes so hot, that he can feel the heat spread through his cheek to his collarbone. Why can’t he control his thoughts?  _ Must be Bruce’s pheremones making him dizzy with desire.  _

Bruce straightens himself from where he was leaning against the dresser and waltzes up to Tim, and from the closeness, Tim can really smell the scent of pre-heat rolling of Bruce. He berates himself for being so oblivious earlier. 

And the closer Bruce is the more Tim is unable process words or communications. It’s as if 404 error codes are popping up in multitudes in his brain, backing up his mental processes.

“I love you.”

Okay, yeah huge malfunction there—that was  _ not  _ supposed to come out of his mouth.

And now Bruce’s own expression has gone blank, and Tim doesn’t know if this situation is going to go North or South, so he rolls with it, grabs the front of Bruce’s shirt and pulls the omega into an earth shattering kiss. 

Dick kisses with expertise and control. Jason kisses with uninhibited passion. Bruce kisses with...a surprising softness and tenderness. 

His lips are soft and warm, malleable but graceful under Tim’s own. He tastes just as sweet as he smells, and Tim melts into the omega, tilting his head up into a slightly better angle to slot their lips together more perfectly. 

His hands drift down from Bruce’s shirt to his waist just as the other breaks the kiss, softly panting and eyes wide. Tim doesn’t know what the omega is thinking, but Tim starts talking before Bruce says something that Tim doesn’t want to hear. 

“I’m sorry. I just saw you with—well I didn’t actually  _ see  _ you with them but I was told and reasoned—anyway, I was kind of jealous, and I know I’m not an alpha by any means, but I mean what I said. I really care about you, and I’m sorry if I didn’t make that known earlier. I hope—”

Bruce shuts him up with another kiss. It’s quick and chaste, but Tim loses his words for the millionth time today.

“I don’t care if you aren’t an alpha, Tim. I care about you because you’re you.”

Tim resists the urge to  _ aw _ . 

Bruce does however remove Tim’s grip from his waist. 

“I’ll have to resist any further um  _ touching  _ though. I really don’t want to fall into heat right now.”

Tim perks up. “That’s okay, isn’t it? We could take care of you, all of us,” Tim suggests, bright smile stretching across his face. 

Tim does not miss the way Bruce’s own face goes hot, and the slight tremble that racks through his body. Bruce shakes his head profusely however.

“You sound exactly like Dick, but we shouldn’t, at least not this time. Please don’t try to change my mind on this.”

Tim pouts but nods in understanding. Bruce turns around and shuts his suitcase before zipping up the piece of luggage. 

He throws Tim a smile over his shoulder to reassure the beta and his Robin. 

“I’ll be fine. I’ll be gone only for a week.”

A week is too long in Tim’s mind. 

\---

“And here is your key card, Mr. Wayne. The first two numbers correspond to floor level and the last three correspond to suite number. If you have any trouble finding your room, a bellboy or other staff can be found to assist you,” the pretty omega says, sliding the key card across the granite countertop.

Bruce thanks her and pockets the card. 

The Essex Hotel is situated on the fringes of Gotham, a conspicuous building with elevated towers and colonnades that seem to ascend into the skyline and ornate designs etched into surface. A courtyard surrounds the eternity of the hotel with lush and manicured gardens, peppered with garish and showy fountains and sculptures. And around the extensive gardens, rises a towering fence with only one gate at its north side.

Bruce couldn’t really care less for the extravagance of the hotel, but he appreciates the privacy and commitment to retaining a level of solitude away from the public and the media. The non-disclosure agreements all staff and guests have to sign also brings him some comfort. He shifts uncomfortably as he feels another tremble work his way through his body.

He hates that he’s so obviously in pre-heat in this lobby. His body is at a point that no amount of scent blockers can cover up the smell of the inevitable. 

“Is there anyone else you are expecting this evening or during your stay?”

Bruce refocuses his attention at the concierge, frowning at the question. They’ve never asked him that question before, but it has been years since he had last requested a heat room from them. 

“No.”

The woman smiles that rehearsed smile and types something on her computer.

“Any emergency contacts I can enter in our database?”

Bruce shakes his head, but the woman presses. “Our new policy strongly suggests that those who request heat rooms have some sort of emergency contact number. Perhaps one of your sons?”

Bruce narrows his eyes at the woman’s suggestion but relents, not in any sort of headspace to argue. He gives her Dick Grayson’s contact information. The woman happily types, her long manicured nails hitting the keys with quick efficiency. An insanely flashy ring sits on the woman’s finger and Bruce resists the urge to roll his eyes at the pretentiousness of this place. 

“You’re all set, Mr. Wayne. Your luggage has already been taken up to your suite. I hope you enjoy your stay at the Essex.”

Bruce returns her kind statement with a smile before making his way to the elevators. Up in his suite on the eleventh floor, he collapses on the bed, joints creaky and muscles strained. Heat always made him physically weaker—another reason why he chose to spend his heats alone. He hated the notion that most could overpower him, and he would be incapable to fight back. 

His thoughts naturally drift to Dick, Jason, and Todd. He knew a part of him would regret denying any one of their help, but Tim’s suggestion that  _ all  _ of them could help has his thighs clenching. 

He has imagined them individually and as pairs, but never all three. 

It’s overwhelming.

He had been so ready to say goodbye to his last robin and prepare for himself of relative solitude with Alfred as his only anchor. He had been ready to succumb to the confines and desolation of bond starvation. It was something he brought on himself after all. 

Now, all of that has changed. 

He still cannot fathom that all three of his robins  _ want  _ him.  _ Want him? _ He’s hardly the ideal omega, in both personality and physical appearance. He feels as if someone is about to pull the carpet from underneath his feet, revealing that these past few days had been a simple ruse. 

For now, he wants to bask in the thought that he’s wanted.

Bruce rolls off the bed and drags his fragile body over towards his suitcase. He opens it up, dumping the few articles of clothing he brought for himself into the drawers. It’s not like he’ll be needing a lot of clothes for his heats. 

He dumps the rest of his suitcase, blankets and other articles of clothing that had smelt the most strongly of his robins, onto the bed. It’s not the ideal nest, but it’s better than the typical floral scent of hotel-washed sheets. 

He kicks of his sweatpants and throws off his shirt before submerging himself amongst the contents of his nest, closing his eyes and imagining that he stayed at the Manor under the safe protection of Jason, Dick, and Tim. 

_ Would they take care of him all at once or take turns? _

A part of Bruce yearns that they would each have their way with him, each taking their time to fuck him open and fill him up with their cum until his hole would be a dripping mess.

He knows realistically that they would have to use protection since Bruce has been off birth control as well, but he still imagines. 

He’s rarely thought of mating and pregnancy. It’s something he’s always thought that wasn’t in his fate between being Batman and keeping up his image as the allusive playboy Bruce Wayne. He doesn’t know how the world—how Gotham—would react to an omega Bruce Wayne.

Not pleasantly he assumes. 

But for a moment, he imagines. 

He imagines being round and soft. He imagines giving up the cowl for a period of time. He’s always thought that Dick would make an amazing Batman.

Just as quickly as the imagination comes, Bruce dismisses it. He knows it’s unattainable given his age and profession. He’s not even sure if that’s what he wants. 

He’s wet. He’s been getting so wet so easily these past few days, he should have realized heat was coming.

He wants to touch himself to take off the edge, to settle that ball of heat that has been building in his gut, but he knows that will only bring heat closer.

He’s already tired, and heat will only make him exhausted, so it’s best to sleep the rest of the day away to build up energy for tomorrow. 

Bruce flips off the lamp light, and a sliver of dread worms itself into this head as he thinks back to his nightmares. The dread is instantly replaced with the foggy memory of Jason holding him, chasing away all the bad thoughts.

_ I’m not going to leave you. _

Bruce drifts into peaceful sleep. 

\---

Bruce awakes in the middle of the night suddenly, a groan falling from his lips. He’s drenched, his body covered in a sheen of sticky sweat and his thighs coated in the thickness of his slick.

He’s in heat is the only thing his brain registers. 

And it  _ hurts _ .  _ Did it always hurt this bad? _

The crippling loneliness is what he registers second. He was an idiot for deciding to go through this alone when there are two capable alphas and a beta willing to fuck him through this. 

Bruce doesn’t even waste time taking off his boxers before slipping his hand underneath his waistband and shoving three fingers into this hole. The omega hisses at the stretch, but doesn’t slow.

He flips onto his stomach and brings his knees up until he’s in a typical mounting position—face down, ass up, knees spread, back arched. A position that tells anybody in sight that he’s ready to be mounted, to be filled. 

Bruce is brutal with his touch, fucking himself down onto his fingers, curling them until they’re scraping against his protaste. 

It’s all wrong. 

His fingers aren’t long enough, aren’t thick enough. There’s no one to hold him down and make him take it. Bruce whines as he tries stretching his fingers apart to get a better sensation. It doesn’t help. 

Bruce reaches behind with his other hand to fondle his balls, and it’s just enough to bring him over the edge into an unsatisfying climax. 

He remains there on his knees, quivering and shaking.

Even though he now lies in a patch of his own cum, he’s still hard. He stays like that for five minutes, panting and trembling, before he starts working his fingers in himself with a renewed frenzy. 

He grasps his cock as well, jerking his penis wildly. 

There is a knock at the door. 

Bruce cries out, startled at the interruption. 

Then, he’s scared.

And he hates it.

He doesn’t want anybody around. He can’t protect himself. He can’t fight back. 

“Bruce. It’s me.”

It’s Dick. 

Bruce freezes.  _ Why is Dick here? How did he know what hotel he was staying at? Did Alfred tell him? _

Dick bangs against the door again, loud and insistent. “I know you're here, Bruce.”

“Please leave,” Bruce says, his voice barely above a whisper. It’s taking all his strength to will Dick away. He wants nothing more to rip that door open and present himself to the alpha and beg him to fuck him. 

“Can you open the door, Bruce? It’s urgent, please,” Dick responds, and Bruce bites his lip. He can’t do this. He can’t push up against Dick Grayson. Bruce wiggles his fingers inside himself, needing to come a second time. 

“Please, Dick. You can’t be here. I told you not to come. You said you would listen.”

There’s a silence on the other side of the door, and Bruce thinks Dick will listen and leave him alone, which is best for them both. 

He doesn’t expect to Dick to order him. 

“Open the door, Bruce. Now.”

The omega cannot help but obey, his mind now trained on doing what his alpha asks of him. 

Bruce flops out of bed, walks to the door and opens it. Dick is standing there in all black, a serious expression written on his features.  _ There’s something wrong.  _

Dick moves Bruce aside and stalks inside the room; the door shuts behind him.

Bruce is instantly on edge. He’s scared of sharing his heat with another if that’s what Dick is here to do. But it’s Dick Grayson, his first Robin, the person who probably knows him the best. But he’s also an alpha who’s barged his way into Bruce’s nest, his sanctuary, without permission. 

_ We would never do anything to abuse you or take advantage of you. _

That’s what Dick had told him. He would trust the alpha. He would be good for him. 

Dick walks to the center of the room, takes note of the Bruce’s nest, and then of Bruce, clad only in his slick-soaked boxers and whose stomach is smattered with cum.

Bruce’s knees are shaking. This is what he needs. He needs an alpha to help him.

“Please, Alpha. I need—”

“Get changed and pack your stuff. We’re going.”

Bruce stands there, confused at the command.  _ Leave? He’s already nested? He’s in heat? Dick can help him here. _

“Alpha—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I-I’m sorry. But, I need to cum. I’m so close, please,” Bruce whispers, hoping he sounds genuine. He takes a step towards the alpha, reaching out for his touch. 

Bruce really shouldn’t be on his feet while in heat, especially at a high point in his cycle. He sways, and Dick is there in a blink of an eye to steady him, hands gripping his elbows.

His touch is cold in contrast to Bruce’s fevered skin. _ So cold.  _ It feels amazing. It feels like relief. Bruce can’t help but moan. 

“Please, touch—”

“You’re in danger, Bruce. We do not have time time. Do not make me repeat myself.”

The fog of heat slightly lifts, and the feeling of terror returns.  _ Danger? _

Dick looks him over with a blank look, and Bruce flinches. 

Bruce straightens himself, distinctly aware now that he probably looks like some whore falling over themselves to get an alpha pay them some mind.

He follows Dick’s order, grimacing as he pulls his clothes onto his too hot body. He packs his nest, no matter how much it pains him. Dick watches him with a hawk like gaze the entire time. 

_ What’s happening? _

Bruce knows this must be related to his attack. Did Dick figure something out?

Bruce couldn’t think. He just knew he must do what Dick asks of him. Dick would take care of him. 

Bruce turns around. Dick is now waiting at the door, hand poised on the door knob. 

“Let’s hurry,” Dick beckons, and Bruce goes to him.

The alpha doesn’t open the door. 

Bruce looks at him. Dick’s gaze is unreadable as he looks down at Bruce. 

“You would do anything I said, wouldn’t you?”

Bruce doesn’t know how to respond to the strange question. He doesn’t need to because Dick continues. 

“On your knees.”

Bruce collapses, knees hitting the carpet with a heavy thud. 

Dick is suddenly fumbling with his belt quickly. He unzips his pants and whips out his cock.

And it’s beautiful. 

If Bruce was in a sane mind, he would probably question the spontaneity of the situation a bit more given the fact that he’s in supposed danger. 

He doesn’t give a fuck now. If Dick wants him to suck him off. He’ll be good and do it. 

Dick’s cock is gorgeous, long, thick, and it’s only half hard. 

“Hands behind your back. Open your mouth.”

Bruce obeys. 

Dick grabs either side of Bruce’s head and slides his cock inside Bruce’s awaiting mouth. 

Bruce really needs to get off now, but he won’t complain. He’ll take care of his alpha first. 

Dick is  _ brutal _ .

He fucks Bruce’s mouth violently. Bruce tries to push down his gag reflex as the long cock hits the back of his throat, but the wild thrusts have him choking and spluttering, drool dripping profusely from his gaping mouth. 

Bruce’s mind drifts as his alpha uses him. A fog surrounds his mind, and this is what he wanted—this security as someone he trusts takes control. 

After two minutes, Dick shoots down his throat, his cum hot and heavy.

Bruce swallows and looks up at Dick as the alpha finishes climaxing. He pulls out, tucks himself back, and zips his fly back up. 

“Was it good?” Bruce asks. _ Was I good? _

“Yes. Now, let’s go.”

Bruce nods and slowly rises, head dizzy and mind foggy. 

Dick finally opens the door, and the two make their way down to the lobby. It’s almost two in the morning, the lobby completely empty except for a lone security guard that sits behind a desk and a different woman who sits behind the concierge desk. 

She appears concerned, but still offers a smile. “Sorry, you had to check out so soon, Mr. Wayne. We hope you come back soon!”

Bruce nods, and Dick wraps an arm around his waist, urging Bruce to move faster. He feels sick, moving so much in heat, but he is soothed by Dick’s presence. Bruce assumes that his emergency contact, Dick was able to check him out. 

They walk outside the glass doors to the round about curb, where a car is waiting, presumably Dick’s. As they near, Bruce realizes that there are others in the car. Dick pulls open the backseat door for him and ushers him inside, taking his luggage away to stow away in the trunk. 

Jason sits at the driver’s seat, and Tim sits next to Bruce in the back. They are both dressed in black, and something familiar scratches at the back of Bruce’s mind. 

_ Why are they all here? _

Tim regards him with a simple acknowledgement while Jason turns and gives Bruce a thorough look over, his features twisting into something unpleasant. Dick slides into the passenger seat, and Jason glares.

“Don’t think for a second I can’t tell what you’ve done. We’ll address this later,” his voice is low and deadly.

Bruce is lost and confused, glancing back and forth between the two to decipher what Jason is talking about. Both of their expressions remain neutral even though Dick appears more stiff.

Jason starts up the car, and when they have exited out of the north gate and back onto public roads, Bruce finally decides to ask. 

“What’s going on? Why am in danger?”

The road they are on is empty, the black cement path stretching forever into the night. The car is relatively small, and Bruce can smell his own heat scent, thick and clogging up his nose. It’s too hot and too cramp. He twists uncomfortably in his seat, sweat dripping profusely from his brow. 

“Where are we going?” he asks as well. 

He’s met with silence from all three of them before Jason responds.

“We’ll tell you everything when we get there. I promise,” Jason says vaguely.

Bruce huffs. “I—I’m in heat. I need to nest. We need to stop as soon as possible. We can go to the Manor. The Manor is safe.”

“No, we can’t go to the Manor. We’ll stop when we get to our destination.”

Bruce opens his mouth to argue, but Jason stops him, the words dying quickly in his throat.

“Shut up,” he orders, not an ounce of humor in his voice.

Something in Bruce feels as if its being ripped open at the command, but he can’t fight back. He shuts his mouth and sits there in silence as they continue down the road, heading in the opposite direction of Gotham. 

Bruce closes his eyes and steadies his breathing. 

_ They’ll take care of you. They’ll take care of you. They’ll take care of you. _

He repeats that mantra over and over to himself for more than an hour as the car twists and winds down various back roads. Jason told him to shut up, so that’s what he’ll do.

Even though there is a creeping sense of something off. 

This situation isn’t right, and he just wants one of them to explain things to him. 

After another thirty minutes, panic is starting to set in. He doesn’t know if he should focus on the most unbearable heat that he can’t take care of or the fact he’s being taken somewhere far away. 

He’s been twisting and turning all car ride to relieve some of the pain, but to no avail. He had tried to touch himself, but Jason had stopped him from doing that as well. He had asked Tim to touch him but was refused. 

He’s sitting in a puddle of his own slick by this point and feels even sicker. 

When the car rolls to a stop at a red light, Bruce tries again. 

“I have a safe house not too far from here I think. Maybe we could stop there for—”

“If you say one more word, you’re going to regret it.”

A familiar iciness sinks into Bruce’s veins.  _ Did Jason just threaten him? _ He needs to go and now. 

He unbuckles his seat belt and pushes open the door.  _ Dammit, he’ll walk back to the Manor if he has too. _

He’s not given the chance because Tim grabs the back of his collar, hauling him back into the car, before Jason slams on the gas pedal, squealing past the red light to the anger of a few passing by cars. 

“Let me go! Let go!” Bruce yells, slamming his hands against Tim’s chest. 

The beta unbuckles his own seat belt and straddles the omega, pinning him down against the seats. Bruce wants to be good, so good, but this car ride is torture.  _ Why can’t they see that? They said they would take care of him. _

Jason screeches down the road at an insane speed before veering off to the side and slamming on the breaks.

Jason turns around angrily, a growl ripping from his throat as he grabs Bruce’s jaw in a bruising grip, forcing their eyes to meet.

_ Purple eyes _ .

And that is  _ not  _ Jason Todd. The face peering down on him looks like a wax figure melting. The face shifts before Bruce’s eyes, and he can only watch in wonder and terror. The face rounds out, the eyes become sharper, the skin becomes paler, and Jason’s rich brown hair tumbles into a mess of loose red waves. 

A woman stares back at him with a pair of furious purple eyes. 

The woman from his memories.

Bruce’s mouth goes dry. 

The person holding him down is no longer Tim, and the person sitting in the passenger seat is—dear  _ God _ . That is not Dick Grayson.

Bruce wants to vomit. He wants to scream. He wants to cry.

But he can only look between the three in an expression akin to absolute horror as the realization dawns on him that this is trouble. That is this is the danger. A cloud of muddy memories are poking at his mind, but Bruce can’t decipher them. 

He’s scared. 

“Why do you have to be difficult for me, Brucie? You can’t just be a good boy and do as your told.”

For once in his life, Bruce is speechless. 

The woman— _ Myra _ , the name slams into his mind—smiles. 

“I wanted to play nice, but he’s giving me a headache. Knock him out.”

Bruce doesn’t feel anything as the world goes dark. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings/spoilers: Bruce performs oral sex on someone thinking it is Dick, but it turns out not be him---sexual assault/manipulation. Bruce is kidnapped. 
> 
> Most of you guys thought something bad was going to happen at the hotel, and you were right! Did it carry out like you expected? Lots more answers and questions in the next chapter. How the heck did these people turn into Dick and the rest? Who are they? Where are they from? What do they want? Will Dick and everyone even realize in time? Honestly, I don't even know the answers to most of these. I'll figure something out. Comment your thoughts!


	11. Just part of the process

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce gets some answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, remember that tag I have that says "this is going to be messed up," well, this is the beginning of "messed up," so prepare yourself if you are feint of heart. Nothing actually "happens" in this chapter, just some explanations, but....you'll see. 
> 
> Short chapter to prepare for more to come. Unedited, so please excuse the typos.

Bruce has been in his fair share of sticky situations. 

He’s been held hostage a couple times, courtesy mostly of the Joker and one interesting time with Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn. He managed to worm himself out with minimal injury most of the time, but being held captive always pushed him to the limits for one reason.

The lack of control. 

And the helplessness that Bruce was now experiencing was reaching a level of overwhelming. He had woken up more than an hour ago, an excruciating headache pounding right at his temples. The room he found himself in was pitch black, and even if it wasn’t, he wouldn’t have been able to get an apt survey of his surroundings anyways.

The omega is currently strapped down to a padded table, leather binds stretching across his chest, waist, and forehead as well as wrapped around his ankles and wrists—not quite tight enough to restrict blood circulation but definitely tight enough to become painful when he pulls against the restraints in anguish and frustration.

He had thrashed and yelled for about ten minutes when he initially came to, but a wave of nausea had quickly rolled over him, and he decided he didn’t want to find out what death by choking on vomit felt like.

Now, Bruce lays in the darkness, alone and trembling. 

Heats have their up and down periods, leaving omegas like Bruce caught between rotating cycles of pure desperate desire and uncomfortable, sickening moments of clarity. The first wave of his heat must have crested while he was unconscious because even though Bruce feels like utter shit and still feels  _ incredibly  _ warm in a  _ freezing  _ room, his mind feels a bit more clear and awake. 

Awake enough to also realize he’s naked. 

He really doesn’t want to imagine what those sick fucks might have done to him while he was out and so obviously in the heights of heat. He’s already becoming sicker by the second as a new onslaught of unfamiliar memories comes crashing down from his previous attack. 

_ The alley. The three men in black. Myra. The blood. The drugs.  _

Bruce groans, a bolt of pain splitting like lightning through his brain.

_ We’ve been watching you for a long time, Bruce. _

That woman’s —Myra’s—voice was a higher pitched, accented, sing-song sound. Those words had been bouncing around his head as he gazed into the inkyness of the room. 

A darkness so similar to the darkness that had consumed him in his nightmares; it’s encroaching on him now, and Bruce is trying his best to steady his breathing and push down the anxiety that is bubbling in his chest. 

He feels an impending drop looming when he hears the heavy creak of a door opening. A dim light flickers on, and Bruce’s eyes struggle to readjust to the brightness. 

“Good. You’ve calmed down,” that fucking dreaded voice says. 

Bruce would turn his head, but the leather bind across his forehead has him stuck staring at the gray ceiling. The woman comes into his peripherals, red hair pulled into a low ponytail. She’s smiling. 

It’s only her. 

Bruce is having a tough time reconciling the fact that she  _ was  _ Jason, the haunting picture of Jason’s face melting and twisting into something else so vivid in his memories. _ Something alien. _

Myra saunters up to the omega, bringing a deeper chill with her. It’s so cold Bruce is almost certain that he can see the fog of his breath. She comes to a stop at his bedside, placing a freezing hand on his naked, flushed chest.

Bruce swallows down another wave of nausea. 

“I’ll have to apologize for the theatrics of the entire situation. We carefully put together a plan that would cause the least amount of stress on you, but I guess we underestimated you and your intuitiveness. You made things a bit more complicated.”

Bruce doesn’t respond. 

Myra seems unfazed. 

“I also have something else to apologize for.” Her voice is softer. “Azra, the man sent to retrieve you, was  _ only  _ supposed to retrieve you. We  _ want _ you to trust us, Bruce.”

Bruce scoffs at the ridiculousness of the statement. 

“You are very important to us, and Azra violated that trust and manipulated you.”

Bruce closes his eyes, not wanting to think of what he’s done. He imagines Dick, the real Dick Grayson, and feels ashamed. Tears of embarrassment burn his eyes. 

“And you didn’t?” he finally says, his voice thick with emotion. 

Myra’s hand slides from Bruce’s chest to cup his cheek. Bruce flinches. 

“As I said, you are extremely important to us, Bruce. More than you can comprehend, but hopefully you will be understanding of why we do certain things, why we need you so desperately.”

“Is this when you reveal your evil plans?”

Myra laughs. “My plans are in no way evil, but yes. We’ve learned from past...attempts that it’s better that you know what will happen and what we expect from you. I’m sure there are a million questions swirling around in that pretty head of yours.”

“Your past attempts? Like Ines Naudi and  Lucas Guimarães?”

Myra blinks, the corner of her smile faltering. “I guess you’ve been following us closely just as well, but yes, among  _ many  _ others. More than I think you actually know.”

“How many?”

“Fifteen or so.”

“All dead?”

“Unfortunately.”

Bruce curses. “Why?”

Myra sighs. “All of them were important to us, Bruce. Their deaths were not intentional, but necessary for us to find a better, more perfect match. You.” Her thumb brushes over the roundness of Bruce’s cheekbone. “It’s also taught us a lot.”

“Us?” Bruce breathes.

“Yathea. That is our home, across the universe. It’s a small, cold planet, farthest from the sun in our galaxy.”

That explains the iciness of her skin and the low temperatures of the room. Bruce files away that piece of information. 

“Let me guess, your planet is dying and you’ve been performing experiments to find a cure for some disease that has been ravaging your people?”

It’s a weak reasoning that doesn’t really explain the focus on omegas or drugs, but Bruce has heard worse explanations for more evil things. 

Myra laughs again. “I guess you would say my planet is dying, but slowly. Yathea has stricter breeding and mating customs than you humans to protect the purity and sanctity of our bloodline...and our powers.” Myra’s eyes gaze off into the distant, a glassy look overcoming the purple irises. 

“Only a few children are born each century. Their mothers are carefully selected among the population, only those worthy are allowed the luxury of being bred by our King and bearing his children.”

Myra’s hand falls from Bruce’s cheek. She actually looks distraught, but Bruce has not one ounce of sympathy. Her hand absentmindedly ghosts over her abdomen before clenching into a fist. 

“Our women have gone infertile. For the past 500 years, no child has been produced.”

Bruce connects the dots.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Your species is the most similar in biology and chemistry to our own. It was interesting to learn that both human men and women are able to bear children, but if anything it opens up more options for us.”

Bruce thrashes against his restraints. “I’m not going to be your breeding bitch,” he spits. 

“I think your compliance to help our people would be most needed, for your sake as well as ours.”

“You’re fucking delusional.”

Myra sighs, running her hand over her face. “Our King is very particular to those who he mates. After studying your kind for over a year, we’ve learned that things such as money, fame, status, and looks are deemed as valuable and treasured in your society. You have matched that criteria, Bruce.”

“Most of your ‘past attempts’ did too, and look at them,” he hisses. 

“That is our fault. I told you. We are learning too. Lucas was our first, and we simply offered him up to our King with no preparation. The reaction was not what we were expecting.”

Bruce pales. “Your fucking King tore him apart?”

Myra humms in confirmation. 

_ What kind of monster is this “king”? _

“We tried differing tactics next — aphrodisiacs to make the omega more fertile and attractive, sedatives to make them more relaxed and receptive to receiving. Some tries worked better than others, and our King did mate, but...he would always kill them in the end.”

Bruce licks his dry, chapped lips. “The blood,” he whispers.

Myra breaks into an ear-to-ear grin. “Yes! The answer was blood. The King didn’t recognize our attempts as his  _ own  _ people. You see, Bruce, our unique, potent blood is what makes us Yatheans. It is what allows us to transform into anything and anyone we desire with the taste of the other’s blood.”

“Ines…”

Myra waves her hand. “Ines was not the first that we blessed with our blood; she was just the first who could handle it.”

Bruce thinks about what Tim told him about the side effects of incorrect blood transfusion —blood clotting then death. 

“Others reacted rather poorly, but Ines was special. She was our first success.”

“You actually…?”

“Yes, she was impregnated.”

Bruce closes his eyes.  _ He can’t panic. _

“Ines, however, did not fare well in under our protection. The stress of the entire situation was too much for her, and she unfortunately miscarried. So, we tried again.”

_ Don’t panic.  _

“We suppose the King was angry, so he killed her.”

The image of the woman's abdomen torn to shreds comes to the forefront of Bruce’s memories. 

Myra leans over Bruce, purple eyes meeting blue. 

“You will be our second success, Bruce. You will help save us all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmmmm so what do you guys think? Is it anything you were expecting? Please comment below your thoughts!


	12. Jesus Christ, it hurts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce fights for control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I am back in school, so sorry if chapters come out a bit slower now. Do not worry, I am always thinking of this story, my readers, and trying to find a good time to write. I hope you understand.
> 
> Please excuse any I guess "medical" inaccuracies in this chapter. Google is my only friend. PLEASE, skip down to the end notes for trigger warnings if that is needed. 
> 
> I enjoyed this chapter, and I hope you do too. Please excuse any simple typos, if you see any glaring mistakes, let me know! Thanks!

Myra returns hours later to find Bruce squirming and arching of the table, his skin too hot and sticking to the leather pads of table. He’s in the middle of the second wave of his heat, and all he can think about is how badly he  _ needs  _ to touch himself.

He bites down hard on his bottom lip when Myra emerges, flanked by two other of her goons, to keep himself from begging her to untie him, so he can find some sweet release. He needs to control himself. If he loses control, then he loses. 

“I know you must be hungry, Bruce,” she comments, pulling up a chair to his bedside. 

He can smell the food now, steaming and smelling absolutely delicious. His stomach grumbles, and Bruce knows he’s hungry, but somehow simultaneously, he doesn’t think he can stomach it. He’s always struggled to eat during his heats, mind and body too tired to focus on feeding himself. 

“You are also twenty pounds underweight. Thirty if you consider the fact that omegas like yourself should gain around ten pounds in the week before their heat arrives.”

Bruce groans. He doesn’t want to hear the woman talk anymore. 

“It’s also bad for fertility. Omegas at a healthy weight are more likely to get pregnant.”

Bruce glares at her through his peripherals. Myra sits there, legs crossed and hands folded over her lap. She’s wearing a black dress and black flats. She beckons over one of the men behind her. The one carrying a large plate of hot food approaches. 

“Lio, here, is going to feed you, and you’re going to eat every last bite. Don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be.”

The food in question is a huge lump of darkened meat with a side of buttery potatoes, oily bread, and cheese.

“I’m not hungry,” is all Bruce says. 

Myra purses her lips, and Bruce enjoys seeing her frustrated. 

“You have to eat, Bruce. If not for the sake of our people, but for yours. You don’t eat, you die.”

A human can go without food for three weeks. He fully intends to be out before his heat is up. Someone eventually will figure out something is wrong: Dick, Jason, Tim, the Justice League, someone, anyone. He can wait. 

“I’ll take one bite I suppose,” he says, and Myra gives him a thin-lipped smile. 

Bruce resists the urge to roll his eyes when the man, Lio, plucks a sliced potato from the plate and holds it to Bruce’s lips.

Bruce carefully takes the piece of food between his teeth, making a show of chewing it slowly and deliberately. It’s delicious, a burst of flavors exploding across his taste buds. The three Yatheans study him as he eats. 

He spits it back in the man’s face. 

Bruce is impressed that the man remains passive, merely stiffening as the potato chunks spew across his face. He wipes his face and looks at Myra for her own reaction.

She is not amused. 

“Bruce, I was not expecting you to be so childish.”

Bruce closes his eyes. He doesn’t care what she has to say unless it valuable for him getting out of here. 

“I’ll give you one more chance to be good. You will not like what happens if you do not.”

Bruce is well into his forties, and does not need someone treating him like a child, offering him chances and opportunities to be good. 

Myra stands up, smoothing the creases in her dress. 

“This will be easier for us but harder on you. You’ve chosen.”

The three of them leave without another word, and Bruce tries not to feel any regret. He’s not going to help them. If they want him to eat so he’ll be nice and plump for mating, he won’t eat. 

With some more time by himself, Bruce is truly able to analyze the room to the best of his ability. He’s basically in a concrete box, no bigger than two hundred square feet. There is no exposed piping, furniture besides the table he is strapped to, and windows. He can tilt his head just enough to see the door, a thick, metal, military-grade entrance. 

If there was any hope of busting out of his restraints, he would need some key or access card to actually free himself. 

He suspects he’s underground given the lack of windows and almost complete silence—emphasis on “almost.”

If Bruce stills his breathing enough, there’s a low rumble, similar to the sound of a distant thunderstorm, above him. Bruce muses it could be some type of machinery, a generator perhaps. 

Bruce knows they will have to let him out of his restraints eventually to go to the bathroom at least. He’ll have to take careful note of his surroundings, figure out the most efficient escape route. The second time they release him from his restraints, he’ll attack. 

They don’t seem to be carrying any weapons, and if he catches them by surprise, he may have enough time to make a run for it. 

He doesn’t know how big of a facility he is in or how many Yatheans are around, but it’s the only option he’s got.

If he makes it outside at least, he can call for help. If anybody realizes he’s missing, he can yell for Superman. Clark would hear him if he knows to be listening. 

Bruce huffs, eyes scrunching in comfort. It’s hard to come up with a more elaborate plan when he's actually melting. His mind is foggy, filled with only the one desire of touching himself and bringing himself to climax.

Embarrassingly, his clock lays half-hard against his thigh, neglected and sensitive. He can’t help but imagine if he decided to stay at the Manor and let his boys take care of him. Tears sting his eyes at the thought. He wouldn’t be here if he listened to Dick, wouldn’t be at the complete and utter mercy of a group of aliens who want to use him as breeding stock, wouldn’t be half-terrified out of his mind at the prospect of them actually succeeding. 

The panic rises again, so Bruce closes his eyes and imagines himself somewhere else. He thinks about Jason’s arms and letting himself be held and soothed. He thinks of Dick’s kisses, soft yet demanding. He thinks about Tim’s scent, ocean and lavender, a scent that he now associates with home and safety. 

He hopes Dick relentless curiosity into his attack, Tim’s detective skills, and Jason’s protectiveness all come together to realize something is wrong and Bruce needs help.

He can only hope though. 

The panic that had been simmering in his chest begins to die down just as the door is kicked open, loudly banging against the wall. Bruce flinches, not expecting them back so soon. He doesn’t open his eyes however, willing his breathing to settle, so he doesn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing him scared. 

“The average male human should consume two thousand and five hundred calories a day to maintain his weight. It’s physically impossible for you to gain thirty pounds before your heat ends, but perhaps ten or fifteen is doable.”

Myra’s voice is thin and clipped as she talks to Bruce. He wonders who put this woman in charge. 

“Tripling that calorie intake until you’re consuming more than seven thousand calories a day should increase how fast you gain weight. That’s extremely difficult however, so we’ve made it easier for you.”

Bruce decides to open his eyes at that moment. Myra is standing at the foot of his bed, hands clasped in front of her. Her face is painfully calm and expressionless. 

He hears a  _ crank  _ of a lever until suddenly the table is tilted up until he is propped into a seating position. He can get a better view of the room from here, and he notes that it’s remarkably clean and sterile. Wherever he is, it must be newly constructed or renovated.

He is even more surprised when the leather strap around his forehead is removed, allowing him to rotate his neck. He groans at the stiffness. 

And halts when he sees what one of the men in the room is holding.

It’s a funnel with a long connected plastic tube in one hand and a bucket of pink-looking and chunky slop in the other. 

Bruce swallows, pushing down a gag. 

“Are you serious?” he asks under his breath because he can’t believe it. Bruce has endured many different kinds of torture. Gotham villains were always so creative. His fingernails have been peeled off, his legs and arms broken, and his skin sliced into hundreds of cuts.

He’s never been force fed. 

Myra places a cold hand on his ankle, squeezing gently. She has a disingenuous look of pity on her face, a poor attempt to soothe Bruce. 

“Perhaps, we can give you one more chance, Bruce? Doing this will hurt me just as much as it will hurt you.”

She waits for a second to see him cave and give in to her demands. Either way, Myra will get what she wants.

Bruce is not going to make it easier for her.

She sighs. 

“Ena. Lio. Proceed.”

Bruce steels himself as the unfamiliar man, Ena, grasps his jaw in one hand, squeezing until Bruce can feel and  _ hear  _ his teeth grinding together. His whole body tenses as he struggles and grimaces, Lio’s sharp fingernails digging into the soft skin of his cheek.

“Open up for me,” he speaks, and it is strange to hear his voice, an icy, faint whisper of a sound. Myra has done all the talking, and he had assumed the rest were not allowed to talk to him or in his presence. Lio’s purple eyes are narrowed in concentration, and he grins like a psychopath when he squeezes Bruce’s nose, blocking his airway.

Bruce can hold his breath for a long time, not forever. 

After two minutes, Bruce is feeling weightless and floaty, his brain screaming and starving for oxygen. He doesn’t care if he passes out, if anything he wants it. 

Lio has different plans. 

With one sharp movement of his wrist, Bruce feels an awful  _ crack  _ from his jaw, pain shooting from his jaw all the way through his face. He practically loses all strength and mobility in that area, and his mouth falls open with a gasp. 

His jaw is dislocated at best, fractured or broken at worst. 

He thrashes, whipping his head away from their cold hands, but Bruce is immobile. Lio wraps one hand on his chin and jaw and sticks his other fingers onto the roof of Bruce’s mouth, holding his mouth wide open.

Rage burns in Bruce’s veins. He wants to bite down on those fingers, but his face is rapidly numbing. He’s paralyzed and can only make sounds of protests as Ena begins to slide that thin plastic tube down his esophagus, not pausing once as Bruce’s gags around it. 

“Stop struggling, Bruce. It won’t hurt as much.”

_ Fuck you _ he wants to say, but it comes out as a garbaled cry. 

He balls his hands into fists as he watches in horror as Ena raises the bucket and begins pouring the liquid through the funnel. He closes his eyes quickly after that, and things go fuzzy from there. 

Bruce’s mind just goes  _ blank _ . He forgets where he is, what’s happening to him, the pain,  _ everything _ . It’s a strange feeling, mostly because he doesn’t feel  _ anything _ .

The only thing he can make out through the fog is a cold hand holding his own, soft and gentle.

He doesn’t know how long he drifts through the fog, everything feels distorted and muted. When he begins to resurface, he’s flat on his back again, one harsh hand squeezing his mouth shut, and another one petting his sweaty forehead. 

“Don’t you dare throw this up. We’ll just keep doing this until it stays down.”

The words are violent and clipped. Bruce hadn’t realized he had been gagging and heaving, but he takes in one massive, shuddering breath to force down the nausea. His body feels weird...hurts. His vision is blurry, and he realizes they’re tears. 

He doesn’t wipe them away.

Myra is talking, but Bruce struggles to follow. It must be the heat. There were always times when he was desensitized to the world around him. 

His head flops to the side, thankful they hadn’t put the leather strap back over his forehead. There’s a table at his bedside that wasn’t there before. He blinks rapidly, vision clearing as the unshed tears make their way down his face. 

There are three syringes laid out on a blue cloth. They are full of a red liquid —blood. Bruce just  _ knows _ it’s not his. 

He knows what they’re going to do with it. 

Another haze falls over him, and he welcomes it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings/spoilers: force feeding, disassociation, violence, implied forced blood transfusion
> 
> I didn't really know how force feeding works, but apparently it is usually done through a tube through the nose instead of the mouth, but ignore that fact. I also did not know much about disassociation except that it occurs during traumatic situations where the human disconnect from feelings, emotions, thoughts, memories, and surroundings. I hope I described that accurately.
> 
> WHERE ARE THE BOYS? WHAT ARE THEY DOING? I will finally write about them again next chapter. Thanks and don't forget to comment!


	13. I know I should know better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Dick and Bruce make some discoveries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mainly plot. I hope to wrap up all the plot in the next chapter or two, so we can get back to the comfort! I hope this chapter was worth the wait, and please excuse all the typos, this is unedited. If anything major sticks out, please feel free to let me know.
> 
> Skip down to the end notes for warning (not a lot).

Dick has discovered a newfound love and appreciation for kissing Tim. 

He had grown accustomed to Jason’s wild and fervent manner of kissing, had grown to love it, but there’s just something special about the way Tim’s pale pink lips just melt against his own, so soft and trusting. 

Dick cups the nape of Tim’s slender neck, and the beta just goes pilant under his touch, head carefully tilting to slot their mouths together more naturally. He slides his other hand around the curve of Tim’s waist and just marvels at how tiny he is as Tim’s spine eagerly arches off the bed, chest pressing insistently into his own. 

Dick breaks away just so he can get a good look at the beta—swollen lips, eyelids droopy, hair mused. He can’t help but caress a wandering thumb across his spit-slicked lips, cock twitching in his pants at how easily and automatically Tim takes the digit into his warm mouth, sucking softly. 

“You’re gonna kill me,” the alpha growls, and Tim gives him a devilish smirk in response, pulling off with a wet  _ pop _ .

With growing impatience, Dick roughly pushes up Tim’s shirt. Tim gets the gist and rips the shirt over his head. He leans up to reconnect their lips, but Dick pushes him easily back, leaning down to press a sloppy kiss to his sternum. Tim lets out a breathy sigh, carding his fingers through Dick’s black strands. 

Dick kisses a trail down Tim’s torso, relishing in the way Tim squirms and pants. 

It reminds him abruptly of the way Bruce was under his touch, all soft and responsive. It’s the third day since Bruce left to go have his heat in private, and he must be in the throes of it now. It physically hurt Dick to see the omega leave in his most vulnerable state, but he would respect his wishes.

That didn’t stop him from worrying. 

He thought about calling, but was worried that tip-toed the line too much for Bruce. He had told him that he wasn’t in control during his heats, and Dick didn’t want something as simple as a phone call to insinuate that Dick expected something from him. 

Tim flicked him in the forehead.

“I’m trying not to be insulted by the fact that you’re distracted right now.”

He hadn’t even realized that his movements had slowed. He thought about lying but decided against it, knowing that he would escape that easily from Tim’s calculating gaze. 

He groans, burying his face in the warmth of Tim’s abdomen. “I’m sorry,” he grumbles into the pale skin. 

“Thinking about Bruce?”

“I want to call him. Just make sure he’s okay and everything?”

“I’m sure he’s fine...well as fine as he can be for being in heat. How long has it been since his last heat?”

“He went on suppressants a couple years after I became Robin. So, almost ten years? A little less maybe?”

“That can’t be healthy.”

Dick sits up until he’s resting on his knees, still situated between Tim’s spread thighs. “It’s not healthy. He’s not healthy, Tim.”

Tim raises an eyebrow, and Dick realizes he might have said too much. It’s on the tip of his tongue:  _ Bruce is suffering from bond starvation. _ Dick instead bites the inside of his cheek. The look of betrayal on Bruce’s face is still fresh in his memories when he revealed that Jason had told them about the nightmares and drops.

He would let Bruce be the one to tell Jason and Tim when he was ready. 

Until then, Dick would do his damn best to restrengthen their frayed bonds. He had already talked to the Bludhaven Station and was working on a transfer to the Gotham’s station, if it was permanent or just for the meantime, he didn’t know. 

He would talk to Bruce when he got back and figure out what the omega needs. 

“It’s like what you said a couple of weeks ago. You thought there was something wrong with him?”

Tim sits up on his elbows, face scrunching in concentration as he thinks back to the conversation they had that morning after Tim came back from his quick excursion to Gotham and back. 

“Yeah, I thought he was sick at first, which was probably true, but he was probably dealing with lots of stress as well.”

“Stress? With what?”

“The Justice League case,” Tim says nonchalantly but notices Dick’s blank expression. “The one I was working on with the blood samples?”

_ I finished the rest of the blood tests for that case you are working on if you want me to show you. _

That fleeting comment comes back to Dick. He had found it confusing at the time, but it must have slipped from his memory. Bruce works lots of Justice League cases. He nods slowly. “He never mentioned it to me though.”

Tim clears his throat. “He didn’t tell Jason or I much about it either, but from what I’ve gathered it’s pretty brutal. Handful of omegas were found drugged, poisoned, and brutally murdered. The stuff in their blood doesn’t even look like it comes from this planet.”

_ Great, aliens.  _

“Drugs and poisons?”

“Yeah, they were given incompatible blood transfusions, and a handful of other drugs like sedatives and heat inducers.”

Dick freezes.

He feels as if he might have found that missing puzzle. 

“Heat inducers?” he says slowly, making sure he heard right. 

Tim is really looking at Dick quizzically now. “Yeah, which makes me think that a motive might be reproduction-related, but there isn’t any intel on the perpetrators. Or if there is, Bruce hasn’t really shared.”

Dick bounces off the bed; Tim hastitly sits up in response. 

“I need to check on this,” Dick murmurs, mind whirling at this new information. Almost dizzily, he throws open the door, mind on autopilot.

“Wait,” Tim calls after him, throwing on his discarded shirt as he follows the alpha down the stairs and to the study. 

Heat  _ fucking  _ inducers. He remembers that first phone call he had with Bruce after his attack. The distraught omega had told him shakily over the line that his attackers had used heat inducers on him.

Could this be some kind of sick coincidence?

Dick bounds down the secret passage way into the cold and dark Batcave. The motion sensors kick in and light quickly floods the expansive, underground hideout.

“Where’s Jason?” Dick calls over his shoulder at Tim, who is becoming more flustered and confused by the second. 

“Uh, I don’t know. I think he went for a run or something—Dick what the fuck is going on?”

Dick really wishes he could answer that question, but his mind is moving too fast. “I really don’t know. Give me one second,” he says as he sits down at the Batcomputer, automatically booting it up. It only takes less than ten seconds for the interface to light up, and Dick’s fingers fly over the keyboard as he enters the dozens of passwords Bruce had set up for security purposes. 

Tim looks over his shoulder as Dick pulls up the folder that stores all the Justice League cases and opens up the latest case. 

Dozens of documents and photos pop up, and he is briefly overwhelmed at the onslaught of the information. His eyes land on another folder, labeled “victims.” He clicks on that one. 

Seven documents appear, each labeled with a name. 

_ Lucas Guimarães. _

_ Silivia Thomas.  _

_ Jonathan Jongebloed.  _

_ Li Fei. _

_ Kwame Abebe. _

_ Charles Miller. _

_ Ines Naudi.  _

The information in each file for each victim is extensive and detailed. Dick wishes he had enough time to read through each one in depth, but he merely skims. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for, but he slows down when the pictures of the corpses fill the screen. 

It’s horrendous. 

Even Tim covers his mouth in disgust. 

Dick keeps digging however, and it becomes sickenly apparent that there are clear similarities between these victims and Bruce, especially the most recent victim on file, Ines Naudi. The amount of manpower and resources that must have gone into tracking down these victims, obtaining and analyzing information, before actually conducting successful captures of these high profile omegas must have been insurmountable. Only some type of group with access into the right channels must have been this successful. 

The same type of group that went scavenging for information about Bruce Wayne in Gotham’s black market and underground criminal rings. 

And Bruce  _ must  _ have known that the preparator in this case must have been the same pursuing him. Or did he not draw that connection?

“Tim, I’m gonna need you to cross-analyze the blood sample Bruce gave you and his own blood sample that we have in storage.”

Tim spun Dick around in his chair, arms folded over his chest.

“Tell me what’s going on,” the beta demanded. 

“Tim, we don’t have time—”

“Now.”

“I think Bruce’s attack is related to this case. He’s in danger.”

Tim’s eyes widened comically. “What makes you say that?”

“I can’t explain it to you know, but you can prove me right if you compare those two blood samples. After that, call Jason and let him know what is going on. I’m going to get in touch with Alfred and try to contact Bruce.”

\---

When Dick was young, he had an odd sort of fascination with horror movies. 

_ The Shining. The Thing. Halloween.  _ It was a brief phase, but his first Robin probably spent way too many nights staying up to catch up on all the horror classics. 

And even sometimes he would rope Bruce into watching a few with him.

It wasn’t often; Bruce was still trying to find that perfect balance between Batman and Wayne Enterprises all while trying to keep his identity in tact. 

Bruce did find one movie in particular memorable. He doesn’t even remember the title, but it was an old vampire movie. It was more comedic than truly riveting, but he did find the whole concept of vampires interesting. 

Hell, Alfred has also made a couple sly jokes comparing Bruce to a vampire with his whole “Batcave” and lack of sleep, but for some reason, right now, Bruce can’t get his mind of vampires. 

Bruce has encountered lots of monsters, but not the supernatural type that are prevalent in popular culture and fiction. 

However, these Yatheans and vampires, now that he has time to think about it, are oddly similar. 

Pale, cold, stronger than normal, and a thirst for blood. He doesn’t know if blood is the only part of their diet, but they do drink it, and it does give them power...the power to shift. 

He’s thinking about Clark Kent too. The only alien that Bruce has truly gotten to know, and he ponders the source of Superman’s power—the sun. 

Myra had mentioned that Yathea lies on the far side of their galaxy, distant from whatever star their planet circles, which most likely means that the sunlight is minimal there, if any. 

If the sun powers aliens like Clark, could it also be a weakness for others?

Just like vampires.

His only encounter with the Yatheans had been at night, that night during his first attack and the night they took him. 

It’s a crude conclusion, but there could be other reasons why they choose to house him underground. It’s more secluded, yes. There’s also no sunlight. 

“How do you feel?”

He jolts against his restraints unaware that there was someone else in the room with him. It’s been getting harder and harder to concentrate on his surroundings. He keeps finding his mind drifting off and before he realizes it, hours have gone by when it has only felt like minutes.

The alien blood is messing with his mind again.

He blinks back the haziness that had clouded his eyesight. Myra is leaning on the edge of her bed, Ena and Lio standing rigidly in the corner. For a terrifying moment, he thinks it’s feeding time again; it would be his fourth. 

Myra pats his ankle. “Just a check up, Bruce. You’ve been awfully quiet lately, and we wanted to see if you needed to go to the bathroom.”

Lio holds up a bucket, and Bruce shakes his head. Unfortunately, they hadn’t let him out of this room to go to the bathroom, instead bringing a bucket to him.

“Tomorrow is a big day for you,” Myra begins. 

He starts seeing double for a moment but shakes it away. 

“I know this whole ordeal has been mentally and physically straining on you, but I promise it was all in your favor. You have proven to all of us that you are the strongest of those who have been chosen.”

Possibly even more than the force feedings, Bruce hates these little rants that Myra goes on. He closes his eyes, hoping sleep will take him away. 

“Tomorrow, we will introduce you to the King.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: mentions of force-feeding (only at the end of the chapter)
> 
> Please let me know what you think will happen? Will the boys save Bruce? The Justice League? Bruce saves himself? Hope you enjoyed!


	14. I can make this work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason and Dick find some answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's been more than a month which is much longer than I've wanted between posts, but a lot of things have been going on, but now that my school has suspended classes for a week and I am stuck at home because of the virus, I forced myself to finish this. I know a lot of you guys have been waiting, so I made this longer than usual.
> 
> Plot will be wrapped up next chapter (hopefully, I always end up dragging things out)
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy! Not edited.

Jason has dialed Bruce twenty times by the time he pulls up to the Essex, rolling his eyes at the sheer extravagance and monstrosity of the place. Bruce’s monotone voice floods through his cell once again as he slams the car door shut, tossing the keys and a wad of cash at the valet, who throws him an aggravated look. 

_ You have reached the voicemail of Bruce Wayne. I am currently unable to answer your call. Please leave your name, number— _

A growl rips from Jason as he angrily pockets his cellphone and makes his way into the lobby. Bruce not answering his phone could mean a handful of things: his phone could be dead, broken, he could simply be ignoring them, or it could mean...something that Jason doesn’t want to even consider. He just wants to see Bruce and make sure the omega is okay. He doesn’t have time to agonize over what ifs. 

Dick is already there, leaning over the concierge desk, fingers tapping impatiently against the wood as a man in uniform squints at the computer in front of him. The other alpha is visibly on edge, and the closer Jason gets, the more he can smell the distinct smell of an irritated alpha.

Dick finally looks up when Jason places a hand on his shoulder, and Jason can practically Dick relax a smidge. 

“Any luck?” Dick asks hopefully even though he probably already knows the answer. 

Jason shakes his head, and Dick purses his lips in response as he turns back to the man behind the desk.  _ Riley _ the man’s name tag reads. 

Riley looks up finally and says, “Sorry, Mr. Grayson. I can confirm that Bruce Wayne checked in four days ago, but it seems he checked out later the next day at two o’clock in the morning.”

“How long was he supposed to stay?”

“He was scheduled to stay the entire week.There are no notes left or complaints filed, so I am not exactly sure on the circumstances or the reasonings on why he might have left early.”

_ Bruce left on his own? _ That makes no fucking sense. The omega has been so persistent on hiding away for his heat. He wouldn’t just leave when it was bound to hit any moment. Where would he have gone anyway?

“Who checked him out? Who was on staff?” Jason presses.

“Uh,” the man awkwardly begins, going back to click through his computer. “I don’t know if we keep that kind of information on record. I could ask _ — _ ”

“Hey, Riley. Would you mind filling out those forms _ — _ oh.”

From behind the concierge desk, an office door had swung open, and a young blonde woman had stuck her head out, eyes focusing on Dick. Dick raises a curious brow. 

She clears her throat and apologizes. “My apologies. It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Grayson.” She turns back to Riley. “We have to turn in those forms tonight to supply, so if you could sign when you get a chance. That would be great.”

Dick is frozen, staring at the woman with a perplexed expression on his face. Jason is equally confused.  _ Have they met before? _

“I’m sorry. Have we met before?”

The girl blushes. “Uh yes, I was on staff here a few nights ago?”

Dick blinks rapidly, mouth slightly agape as he takes in what the concierge woman is telling him, but Riley looks elated. “Oh, Elena, you were on staff that night? Perfect. Mr. Grayson was asking about Bruce Wayne, and why he checked out so early?”

It’s Elena’s turn to look confused. “Mr. Grayson was listed as his emergency contact, so he came and checked Mr. Wayne out.”

“No, I didn’t,” Dick responded, voice tight and strained. “This is my first time coming to this hotel.”

Elena visibly swallows before fully stepping away from the office door. “Mr. Grayson, I was the only one on staff that night, and only a handful of people came through. Mr. Wayne listed only you as his emergency contact, so only you would have the ability to check him out.”

Dick has an easily recognizable face, so he doubts that a random look-a-like waltzed in an establishment as secure as this and convinced them he was Dick Grayson. 

“Did you ask for an identification?” Jason asks.

Elena nods. “Mr. Wayne left without any complaints.”

Dick curses. “Do you have any security footage?”

Riley and Elena nod eagerly, inviting Dick and Jason around the desk and back into the office. Jason and Dick lock eyes, a silent understanding passing between the two.  _ Something is wrong.  _

The two concierges lead them to the back of the expansive and slightly messy office, where a bored security guard sits monitoring several computer screens that flit between different camera views inside and outside of the hotel. 

“Hey, Rick,” Elena says, causing the older man to jump slightly. The guard, Rick, carefully sits down the cup of coffee he had been sipping before looking at the four of them in confusion. 

“We need to see footage of the lobby from four nights ago if you wouldn’t mind. Around two in the morning.,” Elena softly asks. The guard’s eyes flit over Dick and Jason, but his expression doesn’t change, and he shrugs in agreement. 

In less than two minutes, Jason and Dick are leaning over the man’s shoulder, peering at the glowing screen. The time stamp reads forty-five minutes past one in the morning. It’s a wide shot of the entire lobby, empty and only low light. Jason can see Elena, the concierge, behind the desk, sorting papers and occasionally stealing a glance at the clock behind her. 

The guard presses a key, and the video begins to fast forward at exactly five minutes until two o’clock, a man walks in, dark hair and lean build. He approaches Elena, slides an ID across the table, and scans his surroundings. They exchange some conversation before the man nods and heads towards the elevators. 

Fifteen minutes later, the man walks back down, hand around Bruce’s waist. Jason can tell he’s in a hurry from the way he anxiously and urgently leads Bruce towards the exit. And just before the two leave, he glances back...straight at the camera.

“There,” Jason says, “Pause it and zoom in.”

The guard does as Jason requests. The quality is grainy and the lighting is low, but Jason can tell plain as day. 

The man in the video is Dick Grayson. 

But it can’t be.

The hair, the sharp features, and the piercing blue eyes all tell Jason it’s Dick Grayson, but that doesn’t make any sense. 

Jason glances at Dick, and in fact, everyone is looking a Dick with a curious look. Dick in turn looks pale and sick. He clears his throat and thanks them before abruptly grabbing Jason by the elbow and barging out of the back office. 

“Is there anything you want to tell me, Dick?” Jason asks as Dick leads him outside. He doesn’t know what to think.

Dick stops and faces Jason. “That  _ isn’t  _ me, Jay.”

Jason nods. “I know, but then  _ who  _ is it?”

“I don’t know, but I know who might. You need to call Diana and get in touch with the Justice League. They were on this case. I need to meet up with a friend who might know a thing or two.”

\---

Bruce’s early assumption that whatever facility he was in being underground might in reality be untrue. 

They finally take him from that room. It’s two Yatheans he hasn’t seen before, a man and woman, which unfortunately confirms for him that he’s going to have to deal more than just Myra and her two favorites. 

It also seems that Bruce is being held in a rather mundane home. It’s rather spacious, but the lack of furniture and boarded up windows suggest that it has obviously been renovated and tailored to fit a specific set of needs and purposes.

They still didn’t bother to give him any clothes, but Bruce has not only shoved down his humiliation but another pressing wave of heat. He needs his mind clear if he’s going to take advantage of one of the only chances he’s going to get. 

They lead him upstairs where Myra is waiting. Her hair is wound tightly in a bun this time, and she looks impatient, tapping her heel against the dust covered wood flooring.

“Good morning, Bruce,” Myra says.

_ Morning _ . Perfect. 

Bruce doesn’t say anything, and they don’t expect him to. 

“Typically, our King doesn’t properly mate on the first meeting, but I would be prepared for anything. Touch and smell are very important to him however.” Myra’s eyes rake over Bruce’s naked form, cold and calculating. In fact, the whole house is freezing cold, leaving Bruce’s skin covered in goosebumps. 

Myra sighs, eyes sliding from Bruce to the double doors behind her. 

They’re chained. 

The other woman hands Myra a ring of keys, and Myra makes quick work of unlocking every lock. Bruce’s heart is hammering in his chest so hard that he’s afraid it might leap out of his chest. 

The last chain falls away, and Bruce doesn’t know what he expects, but the eerie silence that follows is not it. It’s unearthly, and Myra even looks concerned before she clears her throat and gives the two behind Bruce a nod. 

Myra slides open the door a wedge, and Bruce doesn’t even fight it when they push him through, shutting the doors with an ominous click but not before Myra’s last piece of warning. 

“Be good.”

And then it’s just him and darkness. 

Well, mostly. 

There’s a sad looking lamp a foot from him that gives Bruce a good idea of where he is. This level of the house seems to still be under construction giving the plastic covering draping the walls and floors. There’s a thin layer of saw dust coating the floor and other construction materials such as nails and wooden planks haphazardly thrown around in Bruce’s immediate vicinity. 

The walls must have been blown out because when Bruce looks straight in front of him there’s just darkness where the little light the lamp offers cannot reach. 

The same darkness in his nightmares. 

And then the feeling comes back to him, that sensation that someone is watching him, but this time he knows it’s not his own anxiety or paranoia. Through that darkness, that thing is watching him. 

“Where are you?” Bruce asks the darkness. And at first, there is no reply. Bruce holds his breath as he stares into that abyss.

Then he hears the slide of a metal across the ground. 

The clanking of chains. 

And then  _ it _ shows itself. 

\---

The thing about Slade Wilson is that he goes to you; you don’t go to him. 

There weren’t many ways to contact the mercenary. If you needed a job done, you would have to wait for word to get around in the black market before a response came. Dick had gotten a few unwanted calls from Slade, but they all came from burner phones, untraceable and thrown out before Dick could even call back. 

Thankfully, Dick had acquired a handful of locations that Slade ues as safehouses, including one conveniently placed on the outskirts of Gotham.

Dick surmises that the mercenary isn’t too busy during daylight, so he pulls up to the abandoned warehouse, grimaces at the stench of garbage permeating the air, and bangs heavily on the chipping door. 

He hopes this is the one.

And he must be right by the way the door bangs open. No one is there, and the lights are off, so Dick isn’t quite sure if anyone is home. 

He steps in anyway. 

The door closes with a  _ woosh  _ behind him, and then the lights finally flicker on. 

The inside of the warehouse is  _ much  _ nicer than the outside. Slade Wilson sits in a red leather chair in the center of the nicely furnished and surprisingly high tech warehouse. He’s not in his armor, so Dick can see as plain as day that smirk.

“Pretty bird, what a nice surprise.”

Dick nods and steps farther into the warehouse. 

“This is a beautiful step in our relationship. You have finally come to me.”

Dick suppresses a groan and instead actually offers Slade a pained smile. 

“Good morning, Slade,” he grits through his teeth. 

Slade feigns a dramatic gasp, standing up from his chair. “You  _ want  _ something, little robin. You  _ really  _ want something if you are calling me that. I thought I was going to have to eventually force it out of you.” He steps around his display of computer screens. They are all shut off. 

“I’m not even going to ask how you found me.”

Dick clears his throat and pulls down the hood of the jacket he had been wearing. He’s run in with Slade countless times, some meetings were more pleasant than others, but he’s rarely been able only to study Slade’s real face.

He’s older than most guess, his hair and beard shot with streaks of white and gray. His face is hardened and scarred, but he’s always carrying that goddamned smirk. And then there’s the eyepatch. 

Dick has never asked him how he lost his eye. 

He probably never would. 

Dick steps closer again. “You’re right. I do need your help.”

Slade’s smile widens. “How can I help the boy wonder?”

“The last time we met...on the rooftop, you told me about people offering money for information on Bruce Wayne.”

Slade strokes his beard. “Sounds familiar.”

Dick rolls his eyes. “I know you know more than you actually told me.”

Slade sits back down elegantly with a raised brow. “I’m not hearing a question, Dicky.”

Dick had swallowed his pride the second that he decided to go to Slade. Bruce has been gone for days, and he wasn’t going to waste another second. Dick opens his mouth, but Slade stops him with a raised finger. 

“Nuh-uh,” he says. Slade pats his lap. “Ask Daddy like a good boy.”

Dick expected something like this. Dick doesn’t want Slade to see him noticeably affected, so he schools his expression and walks up to the mercenary with his head held high and shoulders relaxed. 

He doesn’t even flinch when he seats himself on Slade’s lap. The other alpha sighs in content wrapping his arms around the smaller man’s waist. Dick knows he’s in a vulnerable position. Slade has the upper hand and could easily kill him if he wanted. 

“I need you to tell me everything about the people who were following Bruce,” Dick says. 

Slade’s pheromones are coming out full force, making the other Alpha dizzy and sick. 

“I didn’t hear a pretty please.”

Dick bits the inside of his cheek, and the hesitation is all Slade needs before he’s grabbing Dick’s jaw with a bruising force and whipping it around, so they’re eye-to-eye. 

“You come into my place and you want my help. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Pretty please,” Dick says and it physically hurts to say it with the grip the mercenary has on his jaw.

Slade lets go of his face.

“Okay, I’ll tell you what you want.”

Dick breathes a sigh of relief. 

“For a price, of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone please stay safe during this virus madness! I hope everything with you and your families are okay!


	15. You need a big God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce saves himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been too long. Online school grabbed me by the throat and tore me down. I just barely made it out of finals alive. But I'm here, still kicking, and I hope this chapter is worth the wait. Skip to the end for warnings. A little action, a little smut. Hope you guys enjoy. 
> 
> Not edited. 
> 
> p.s this fic rating will probably go from mature to explicit as soon as figure out how to do that

It’s a monstrous thing. 

Bruce hesitates to outright call it a monster because the thing looks like it could have been human, or at least once resembled one. 

It’s huge and tall, towering somewhere above seven feet, and even though it’s got legs and arms like humans, they're disproportionately long and lanky, not quite fitting the body it's attached to. 

It’s skin is dry and cracked, and when that things steps closer and closer to the light, Bruce realizes it’s  _ scales _ , not skin. 

No hair. Short pointed claws for nails. And most startlingly—

No eyes. 

The thing is blind. 

It turns it’s head to the side, slightly raising its chin, and sniffing. Bruce automatically knows it’s sniffing him out. There’s a rumble that’s so loud that it reverberates throughout the whole room and into Bruce’s bones. It’s coming from the thing. The “King.”

Bruce takes a hesitant step towards the lamp, flinching slightly when he feels floorboard creak under his weight. He holds his breath, head turned to gauge the creature’s reaction. It’s still sniffing, slowly and calculated. It doesn’t register a sound, and Bruce soon realizes he doesn’t see any ears at all or anything that could serve for hearing. 

Blind and deaf. 

He hopes that works in his favor.

It takes another step towards Bruce, spine hunched and arms dragging across the floor, and Bruce thinks for another hopeful moment that the thing's reaction time is delayed, but before Bruce can even take a breath to cry out, the thing is speeding at him, long arm reaching out and grabbing him by the ankle. 

Bruce falls onto his back, knocking the breath clear from his lungs. The thing yanks him across the floor, and he scrambles for purchase, looking to grasp anything that will help him. 

However, he stills when he suddenly becomes face to face with it. It looms over him, hot, rancid breath fanning over his face. Its jaw falls open exponentially wide, giving Bruce a detailed view of its mouth and fangs, and he grimaces as a long sliver of saliva hangs towards his face. A tongue flops out, and the thing licks a long strip from Bruce’s collarbone to his temple. 

Bruce’s stomach is uncomfortably full from the forced feedings he has had to endure, and his insides twist uncomfortably as he resists the urge to vomit. 

Bruce holds his breath as the creature licks on the other side of his face, a deep growl rumbling from its chest. The omega cannot quite discern if the growl is aggressive or pleased, but he hopes it's the latter. The thing takes it time to lick up and down Bruce’s throat, his mating glands uncomfortably swollen, most likely from whatever those Yatheans had injected him with before taking him from the room they were holding him in. The injection was no doubt a lesser dose from the first time they pumped him full of heat inducers and aphrodisiacs, but he could still feel his mating glands pressing uncomfortably against his windpipe as he released enough pheromones to fill the floor. 

Bruce wonders what Myra and the others are doing now. Are they outside those doors, simply listening? Or have they gone elsewhere? 

Bruce lifts his torso slightly, but the thing’s hand comes down on him hard, pushing hard against his chest and back into the cold ground. A gasp escapes Bruce’s lungs as the hand presses down harder, intent on keeping him there, sharps nails pressing painfully into Bruce’s sensitive skin. 

The thing continues its licking, quickly becoming more insistent and more daring, moving lower and lower. Bruce squirms as its tongue runs over Bruce’s abdomen, pausing there briefly and almost  _ nuzzling  _ there. The reason for Bruce’s purpose hits him again full force, ice flooding his veins, but he can’t move. Myra had somehow tried to reassure him that their King doesn’t “mate” during their first meetings, but Bruce didn’t trust one word that came from that woman’s lips. He knows she needs him relaxed as possible hence all of the sedatives. 

The thing moves even lower, and Bruce can’t help the yelp that escapes him at the sensation of the tongue moving across his thighs, hips, and ...between his legs. It’s tasting his skin, sweat, and pheromones, testing him no doubt. Myra had been so fanatic about giving him Yathean blood, and he was perhaps thankful. 

He understood with frightening clarity how this thing was capable of tearing apart Indes Naudi and its dozen other victims. He will not be the next. 

Bruce thumbs the nail that he had been clutching in his hand since before the creature had dragged him across the ground. It’s just the length of his palm and rusted over, but it would be enough. 

Bruce feels the thing’s hot breath move back up his body; it’s practically laying across his body, curled around him almost protectively. It’s face slides up next to Bruce’s own, and the omega doesn’t miss a beat. 

He plunges the nail right into the thing’s face. 

It’s not smooth. The creature’s skin is tough and thick, but once it breaks the surface, Bruce gives another shove, and he hears the ugly squelch of ripping flesh and the awful screech that follows. Bruce yanks it out and barely notices the spew of blood that follows. 

He’s rolling from underneath the creature as the thing stumbles back, hands pressed against its bloody face. 

Bruce stumbles to his feet, adrenaline pumping through his veins, melting away the ice that had frozen him earlier. 

The thing is screeching and wailing, obviously caught by surprise but not for long. The puncture was no doubt deep, but wouldn’t keep it occupied for long. 

Bruce scrambles towards the side, feeling the walls and yanking on the plastic coverings. There’s little light, and he has to squint, but he makes quick work, heart leaping in his chest when his fingers brush against wooden boards that he prays were used to board up windows and keep any and all light out. 

The wailing dies down to a low deep growl, pained and angry. The omega dares a quick glance from behind his shoulder, breath catching in his chest when he sees that thing’s nose is lifted up, scenting him out.

That’s what he hoped.

Bruce drags the already bloodied nail across his wrists, the skin parting easily. He makes three, quick, jagged cuts across both wrists, pain only registering briefly before he wipes his exposed wrists across the boards. The cuts are deep and wide enough that there is enough blood to spread out. It’s hot and sticky, but if Myra is correct, the thing’s sense of smell will be quite sensitive to blood. 

Bruce acknowledges that he himself reeks of pheromones and blood, but he hopes the blood smeared is enough. 

He ducks close to the ground, quickly moving away from the boarded up windows when the thing roars so loud that it shakes the omega’s bones. 

The creature lunges towards the walls, claws raking down the wood and leaving deep gash marks. It pauses, nose running along the bloody streaks before it raises its fist and comes down so hard on the wooden panels that Bruce hears the creak of wooden fibers snapping. 

It moves along the bloody trail closer and closer to where Bruce is curled in the corner, scratching and hammering.

Bruce thinks he hears yelling from outside the chained doors, but he can’t be sure. The creature’s murderous and angered roars are drowning. 

It lowers its shoulder and lunges again, and then it happens. 

The already weakened wooden boards give way and snap, and the windows go even more easily, shattering in a hail of glass. 

Light floods the floor, so bright that it hurts the omega’s sensitive eyes. But what’s even worse is the god-awful screech that tears through, and Bruce collapses flat to the ground, crying out. It literally feels like his brain is being split in two, and he presses his palms to his ears to alleviate some of the pain but to no avail. 

He cracks open his eyes and sees the thing flailing and twisty, skin practically melting in the harshness of the sunlight. 

Brue somehow sits up and drags himself to the gaping hole in the side of the building, stray glass shards nicking at his skin as he glances over. 

It is morning. And the house that Bruce has been held captive in is surrounded by forest, secluded as Bruce had surmised. 

He looks down and swallows. It’s a fifteen foot drop. Of course, he’s made more dangerous jumps, but that’s with his gear and when he’s in top condition. There’s no time to hesitate however.

He tosses his legs over, leans, and jumps. 

\---

“Why me?” Tim asks no one in particular, slumping over in front of the Batcave computers. They’ve gone dark. Hours searching through the dozens of files Bruce had compiled had left him exhausted but ultimately defeated. 

Before Dick had fled to meet up with Jason, he had given the beta strict orders to say at the Manor. 

“We need at least one person to say back just in case,” the older alpha had told him. Despite his grievances, Tim relented and resolved himself to scour the case files to find any useful information. Some of it was helpful but nothing pointed to possible locations, which was increasingly frustrating until Dick called him with news that the Justice League was notified and helping and that they had a good idea where the omega might have been taken. 

That was hours ago. 

Tim flips over his cell phone. No new messages. No missed phone calls. 

He briefly considers calling Jason or Dick, but he knows that they won’t or can’t pick up. A feeling of desperation and uselessness wash over him, but before he even stands up to cool off, there’s a strong gust of a wind behind that blows off the folders in front him off the desk.

Tim whirls around, startled. 

“Superman,” he breathes. “Oh, um Clark, what are you doing—”

Clark stands there, red cape flowing oh so heroically behind him. His face is blank and unreadable, and it takes Tim too long to realize he’s carrying something—someone—in his arms. 

“Bruce!” Tim recognizes with a start, stumbling from the chair and over towards the two. 

Bruce is wrapped tightly in a thick, wool blanket. Surprisingly, he’s awake, eyes half lidded and blinking slowly. 

“Bruce, can you understand me?” Tim cautiously asks. 

“He’s been out of it since I’ve found him. We already had an idea of where he was thanks to Dick, and I was able to find him quickly.”

Tim is speechless. He nods slowly, a thousand questions running through his mind. He leads Clark over towards the Batcave’s medical bay, where Clark gently sets down Bruce, who still has not made one sound, and the silence is quite unnerving. 

“Who—”

“Yatheans,” Clark answers quickly. “An alien species that shares a lot of physical characteristics with humans. They are able to mimic and copy specific features of individuals once they’ve drunk their target’s blood. That’s most likely how they lured Bruce away. They shifted into someone he was familiar or comfortable with.” 

Tim nods. He maneuvers the blanket so that it’s still keeping Bruce modest, but he’s able to assess any and all injuries. He doesn’t want to ask why Bruce is naked, instead focusing on the jagged cuts across Bruce’s wrists. It’s all dried blood, but the cuts look like they’ve been made crudely, almost...self-inflicted. 

Tim swallows thickly. He begins wiping away the blood and cleaning the blood as Clark continues. 

“Not quite sure why they took him yet, but I suppose he matches the other victims. Diana, Jason, and the rest of the Justice League are currently tracking down the ones responsible. They were keeping him in an abandoned house that they had renovated and used as their base of operations. It’s quite possible they have more centers.”

Tim furrows his eyebrows together in confusion. “And Dick?”

Clark coughs awkwardly. “He’s the one who got information on Bruce’s whereabouts, but I have not seen him.”

“How about—”

“Listen, Tim. I would really love to stay and help, but I think it would be better for me to go.”

Tim glances over his shoulder. Clark looks rigid and flushed. The beta takes a tentative sniff in the air, and smells it. _ Bruce is still in heat. _ Betas have less sensitive noses, but for Clark, an alpha, Bruce’s heat pheromones must have been dizzying. 

Tim hastily agrees, words stuck in his throat. Clark is gone in another gust of wind, and Tim goes back to work, wrapping gauze around each wrist tenderly. He quickly checks the rest of the omega’s body but only finds bruising and small cuts. He cleans each cut quickly and applies ointment. Bruce only makes small pained sounds in the back of his throat, and Tim wished he knew what else to do to help the distressed omega. 

Tim leans over Bruce, but his eyes are closed. Tim knows he’s awake given his short and labored breathing. 

“Hold on, Bruce.”

Tim turns around, and fills up a cup of water from the sink. Tim can’t quite gauge the exact conditions those aliens held Bruce in, but he knows it wasn’t kind. 

Bruce is sitting up when Tim turns back around, shocking the beta. 

“Tim,” Bruce says slowly, his words slightly slurred. 

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Tim asks, hoping he doesn’t sound as worried as he feels. Bruce doesn’t answer, just takes in his surroundings, blinking slowly. 

The beta walks up to him, hoping not to frighten him and offers the water. “Here, take a—”

Tim doesn’t even get a chance to finish his sentence before the omega seizes his wrist and gives him a good shove at the shoulders, sending the beta falling backwards onto his back. Bruce discards the blanket, hops off the bed, and climbs on top of Tim before he can even realize what the omega is doing. 

“Um, Bruce, what…”

He trails off because he can’t stop looking, looking at Bruce’s naked  _ body _ . A beautiful flush spreads from his cheeks to his chest, and it looks so nice that Tim just wants to run his hands all over.

And then Bruce is leaning down and kissing him, and it's almost too much that his brain can’t keep up. He just got Bruce back, and now the omega is all over him, and he should say something because Bruce had been adamant about spending his heat alone, but he doesn’t want to stop the feeling of Bruce’s lips against his. 

Bruce’s lips part automatically, and his mouth is warm and wet, and Tim imagines Bruce’s lips on other parts of his body. Bruce’s mouth slides to his neck, nipping and nuzzling. 

“Bruce,” Tim gasps. “We should stop. I don’t want to pressure you.”

Bruce doesn’t even acknowledge him, sucking and biting at Tim’s throat. Stray hands work their way up and under Tim’s shirt, pushing up the article of clothing to his armpits. 

“Bruce,” he says again. “Bruce, we—”

With a huff, Bruce sits up, and Tim can’t take his eyes off Bruce's cock, pink and leaking precum. 

“They wouldn't let me touch myself.”

“Huh?” Tim says dumbly. Bruce’s pheromones are becoming stronger and stronger by the second to the point that it’s distracting even to a beta. 

“They wouldn’t let me touch myself. For days,” Bruce growls. “I need someone to touch me. I need  _ you  _ to touch me.”

That’s all the convincing Tim needs, and Bruce wastes no time tugging off Tim’s shirt and flinging it across the room. Impatient hands move to his pants next, unbuckling his belt and popping open the button. Bruce doesn’t even attempt to take them off before he’s reaching his hand in and pulling the beta’s hard cock out. 

“Shit,” Tim curses because Bruce is leaning forward, swollen nipples hanging right in front of Tim’s face, and rubs the head of the beta’s dick at his own entrance. 

It’s wet, and Tim wishes he could see, but his mind goes blank when all of a sudden Bruce is sitting down, and all Tim can think is how warm and tight the omega is.

Bruce lets out the softest moan, and Tim can’t decide if he wants to watch Bruce’s face twisted in pleasure or his own cock leaving and entering the omega’s hole as Bruce rides him. 

“Tim, Timmy,” Bruce pants, his voice reaching a higher octave. “You feel so good.”

“I don’t think I’m gonna last,” Tim confesses with a gasp, that familiar tight ball of pleasure building in his stomach.

“It’s okay,” Bruce reassures. The omega grabs at the beta’s hands and places them on his chest. “Please touch me here.”

And Tim does, pinching and twisting the sensitive nipples until Bruce’s back is arching with the sensation. Tim grinds his feet into the floor and begins to thrust up into the omega, face blushing at the wet  _ squelch  _ of Bruce’s ass. 

It must have been too much for the omega as well because he cries out, clenching down hard on Tim’s cock and spurting cum all over the beta’s chest. He collapses on top of Tim who follows quickly with one more powerful thrust, filling the omega up with his cum. 

Bruce lays there motionless, exhausted and shaking, on top of his youngest robin. When Tim tries to maneuver them, so he can slip from underneath to go clean them both up, Bruce just whines a quiet “no.”

Tim stifles a laugh. “Let me wash you off, and we can go upstairs where it's more comfortable.”

Bruce shakes his head. “I like you inside of me.”

Tim doesn’t respond. He doesn’t know how to respond. He likes this side of Bruce, a side he rarely gets to see, a side who enjoys the easy touch of each other.

Bruce stirs again, grinding his hips down onto Tim’s sensitive dick. “Let’s go again.”

Maybe he should have waited for Jason and Dick.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: violence and blood (I don't think its too graphic) , non-con touching (between Bruce and that ugly monster thing ew)
> 
> I wanted Bruce to save himself, and didn't really want to go too in depth about how those aliens get their butts kicked, so I leave the rest to the Justice League. More sexy times to come and comfort. Let me know what you think below!!! I apologize again for the wait, but online school was so tiring and time consuming. It's over now (even though I have summer school to look forward too). You're guys comments kept me inspired though! Thanks!


	16. Shower your affection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason comes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this only porn. 100% porn. Some Bruce x Tim at the beginning. More Bruce x Jason at the end. I was so excited to write Bruce x Jason that I didn't look over it once lol because I wanted to post it so bad, so let a girl know if she has an egregious mistake like mixing up names. Spell and grammar check are my bffs. It's almost 1 am, that's how much I stayed up because I couldn't stop writing lol. I really hope you guys enjoy. Unedited.

For the first time in days, Bruce allows himself to slip into the throes of heat, and he easily succumbs to the world of pain and pleasure. 

Tim somehow manages to maneuver Bruce out of the Batcave and to the upper floor of the Manor. Bruce makes a pained sound in the back of his throat when Tim gently lies him across his bed. He should be comforted by the fact that he is safely finally back in his own bedroom after so long, but it feels _ wrong _. 

Tim looks confused for a moment before an idea snaps into his head. With words of encouragement, he leads the omega to Dick’s room, and Bruce is instantly comforted by the familiar and powerful scent of the first robin that clings to the sheets and pillows. A pleased purr reverberates through the room, and Bruce only half registers that it is coming from him. 

Through the haze, Bruce realizes something. He rolls onto his back and glances over towards Tim, who is standing at the foot of the bed, dazed eyes staring at Bruce’s naked form. 

“Where’s Dick? Jason?”

Tim clears his throat and forces himself to meet Bruce’s eyes even though it doesn’t even seem that Bruce noticed nor minded. Tim clears his throat. 

“They’re with the Justice League right now, cleaning some things up. They should be here soon.”

Bruce nods slowly, worry slightly creeping in, but he knows Dick and Jason can take care of themselves, especially with help of Diana and the rest of the Justice League. Tim must sense Bruce’s unease because he rests a careful hand on Bruce’s ankle, running comforting circles into omega’s feverish skin. It feels good

“You need to rest. I’ll get you something to eat, just wait here.”

It’s supposed to be reassuring, but the mere thought of food has Bruce’s stomach wrenching, and the omega sits up in a blink, latching onto the beta’s wrist. 

Tim jumps with a start at Bruce’s reaction, eyes blinking slowly to gauge the omega’s expression. Bruce pants with exertion, dread settling uncomfortably in his stomach. 

“I’m not hungry. I just need you here.”

Tim doesn’t look convinced and gently starts to remove his wrist from Bruce’s grasp. “You’re in heat, Bruce. You need the nutrients, and I don’t know how those—”

“They fed me fine,” Bruce rushes. That’s an understatement. He needs to distract the beta. “Please don’t leave me.”

Tim looks like he’s about to protest again, but Bruce is suddenly rolling off the bed and sliding to his knees. The omega preens at the gasp that falls from the beta’s lips and the smell of arousal that fills the room.

Bruce reaches for Tim’s belt once again, looking up through his eyelashes to study Tim’s reaction, and shivers when he stares up into those wide, dark eyes. 

“Bruce, you don’t have to,” Tim breathes, but the way that the beta is staring at Bruce’s spit-slicked lips says something else.

“I want to,” Bruce responds easily, pushing down Tim’s pants and underwear, smiling when he sees the beta is already hard for him so fast even though he had just ridden him not too long ago. 

A shiver races along Bruce’s spine as he feels a rush of slick and Tim’s cum leak from him, and the desire to be filled again overwhelms him. He wishes Jason or Dick were present to fill him from the back as he sucks on Tim’s cock. 

And it’s a nice cock, sitting in the palm of Bruce’s hand just right, and Bruce can’t resist pressing a small kiss to the swollen, red head before taking it into his mouth and sucking gently. 

It’s exactly what he needs—to be on his knees with a cock in his mouth. That comfortable fog settles in Bruce’s mind as Tim’s fingers card through the hair at the nape of his neck, not demanding but encouraging the omega to take more into his mouth, which he does until his nose is pressed into the soft hair at the base. 

“Fuck,” Tim groans, and the sound of Tim so obviously pleased sends another rush of slick pouring out of him, making a mess of Dick’s poor carpet. 

Bruce momentarily pulls off to go back to sucking the sensitive head of Tim’s now wet dick. 

One hand rests on the quivering muscle of Tim’s thigh as Bruce’s other hand drifts behind himself, finger gently prodding at his swollen and puffy hole. Two of his fingers sink easily inside, and Bruce moans, the vibrations sending a shock of sensation along Tim’s cock who chokes out another groan. 

“Shit, Bruce, are you touching yourself?” Tim gasps, and Bruce looks back up and nods, pulling his fingers free to show the beta who curses again at the sight of Bruce’s cum and slick soaked fingers. 

Bruce pulls off again, and watches in amusement as Tim's expression changes as the omega begins to lick his fingers clean. 

“That’s so hot. You’re gonna kill me.”

Bruce licks a long, wet stripe up Tim’s cock before locking eyes with the beta once again. “Can you cum inside me again?”

If possible the beta flushes even redder and nods furiously. With shaky knees, Bruce stands and lays back down across Dick’s bed, hips perched right on the edge. Bruce cups the backs of his knees and spreads his legs to reveal that fluttering, wet hole. 

Now up close, Tim can see the slick smearing the insides of Bruce’s quivering thighs; he can see his own semen running down the crack of Bruce’s gorgeous ass, and something inside the beta must have snapped because without any preamble, Tim thrusts into the omega.

Bruce cries out in surprise at the sudden intrusion, but Tim doesn’t let up, snapping his hips hard into the omega, the sound of skin against skin almost deafening. 

Bruce arches his back in pleasure, Tim’s cock just the right length to brush against the bundle of nerves that has the omega keening loudly. Bruce throws his head back, exposing his neck and his swollen mating glands. The desire to be marked and bitten hits him hard, and Tim must realize this as well. 

“You know I can’t do that,” he grits through his teeth. “Not while you’re in heat.”

Bruce doesn’t understand, the heat working its way through his body and clouding his mind. Tim wraps a hand around his cock, and the omega chokes as Tim begins to stroke him. 

It’s too much, and if Bruce had a clear mind, he would be embarrassed about how fast he came. That doesn’t stop Tim however who continues to thrust into the disoriented omega who can only help but whine and squirm at the over-sensitivity. 

Some time later, the beta’s thrusts falter before stilling as he comes deep inside Bruce, panting heavily. The omega sobs at the sensation of being filled. Weeks ago, he was embarrassed about his feelings for Tim. He would have never imagined that he would be sharing his heat with him. 

Tim groans as he pulls out, and Bruce should really be embarrassed about how wrecked his hole is, but he can’t muster up the energy to care. 

Tim disappears for a moment, but before Bruce can panic, the beta is back with a warm washcloth and is wiping away the mess between Bruce’s legs. 

“You should really rest,” the beta murmurs once the omega is all cleaned up and heat seemingly settled momentarily. The beta coaxes the omega underneath the covers, which while slightly scratchy against the omega’s sensitive skin, the scent wafting from the sheets soothes his nerves. 

Bruce pulls Tim in after him, the need for skin contact not fading in the slightest, and Bruce falls asleep to the sensation of Tim’s cool fingers carding through his hair. 

\---

Bruce wakes to the prickly feeling of his heat returning. He’s exhausted and wishes his body would allow him to rest, but the pestering sensation of his skin literally crawling is too much to ignore. It’s dark out, which means that Bruce must have been asleep for some time. 

When he kicks off the covers and turns to the side is when he realizes that Tim is gone, and he can’t help the little whine that builds up in his throat. 

In the next second, he hears hushed arguing not too far away. Perhaps from down the hall. He can’t make out the voices, but hears a few words here and there. _ Something about Dick. Aliens. Diana. Heat. Tired. _

Bruce rolls onto his stomach to bury himself in Dick’s alpha scent, shuddering at the way it overwhelms his senses and eases his mind. He can’t resist scenting the sheets, rubbing his glands and cheeks across the sheets. He’s so caught up in his scenting that he doesn’t hear the door swing open and the heavy footsteps across the room. 

He looks up when the bed dips with a new weight, breath faltering at the sight of Jason looking down at him with dark eyes. His breath hitches, and he stills.

Jason looks slightly beat up, bruises peeking from underneath the collar of his shirt and knuckles scratched and swollen. He’s clutching a glass of water, but the alpha has still yet to utter one word. 

It feels as if the world has stopped turning because Bruce can’t tear himself away from Jason’s unblinking gaze. 

Jason makes the first move, clearing his throat. “God, Bruce, I was so worried.” His voice is raspy and rough, and Bruce’s toes curl at the sound. 

Jason stretches out his hand, offering the drink. “Drink this,” he says, and Bruce sits up, but he doesn’t care for the water, grabbing onto the alpha—his alpha—and leaning into the warmth of another body. 

But then Jason is scruffing the back of his neck, stilling the omega. “Please—” Bruce begins but the alpha hushes him. 

“Drink this, and then I’ll take care of you,” Jason says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Understand?”

“Yes, alpha,” Bruce says automatically. The grip Jason has on the back of his neck is pressing just right against his mating glands, sending a torrent of hormones flooding his brain, making his body go all pliant and gooey. 

Bruce doesn’t see the way Jason’s expression turns hungry because the omega is plucking the glass from Jason’s drip and sipping at the cool water. 

Bruce is internally grateful. He hadn’t even realized how thirsty he was. Once the glass is empty, Jason takes it back and places it on the nightstand. In the next second, Bruce is climbing into Jason’s lap, and their mouths are crashing together in a messy tangle of tongue and teeth. 

But then Jason is pulling back too fast, his hand a firm pressure on the back of Bruce’s neck once again. His brows furrow as he clasps both of Bruce’s wrists in a gentle but firm grip, bringing them to eye level. 

He’s staring and—oh. 

“I-I’m fine,” Bruce stutters because _ god _, the look on Jason’s face is murderous but has him wanting to roll over and submit. 

“What the hell did they do to you?” Jason growls but Bruce smothers it with another kiss and a whispered “I’m okay.” Which is false, but he doesn’t want to tell the furious alpha that he was the one who slit his wrists, and he didn’t want to tell him all the other stuff that those aliens did to him. He wanted to forget, and he wanted his alpha to make him forget. 

Jason lets it go at the sound of desperation in the omega’s voice, turning his attention back to taking care of Bruce and his heat. 

Bruce attacks Jason’s neck, kissing and scenting the skin there, mind replaying the last time Jason and him were this close. _ A week ago? In the training room. With Bruce face down and Jason surrounding him, rutting against him and making Bruce make a mess of his pants. _

“What do you need, baby?” Jason whispers in his ear, a question Bruce wouldn’t have even bothered to answer if it were for another squeeze to his neck. 

“You,” Bruce replies simply, grinding his hips down in hopes Jason will get the gist. 

Jason chuckles, but Bruce doesn’t know what’s so funny. Jason uses his other hand to take Bruce’s chin in his grasp, forcing their eyes to meet, and Bruce huffs in annoyance.

“Specifics, baby.”

In any other setting on any other day, Bruce would cringe at the pet name but it just makes Bruce go weak now. 

“I need you to fuck me,” Bruce declares. Jason’s grin is wolfish, releasing Bruce’s chin and trailing a lone finger down his sternum. 

“You want my knot?” Jason asks, and Bruce can’t help the flow of slick that leaves him, and if Jason can’t feel that wetting his pants then he sure as hell can smell it. 

He’s never been knotted. It was always too dangerous to share his heat with someone for fear that his designation would leak to the press, and alphas rarely knotted outside heats or ruts. He always imagined what it felt like to be stretched that wide, tied to another for close to half an hour or more. It was scary, but the submissive omega nature of Bruce was begging for it. 

Bruce nods with enthusiasm. 

“Words,” Jason demands. 

“Yes, please, yes fuck,” Bruce babbles, scrambling off Jason’s lap and onto his hands and knees. 

Bruce really hates how alpha pheromones have him this eager and desperate.

Jason curses at the sight, and Bruce glances back to thankfully see the alpha haul off his own shirt. His hands palm each cheek of Bruce’s ass, kneading the flesh and leaving Bruce breathless with the touch. 

“I know Tim took good care of you while Dick and I were gone. He said he could barely feel his legs after you rode him,” Jason says, voice rough and deep with desire. 

Bruce moans in response when Jason spreads him a part. “You wore him out, but I’ll take good care of you in the meantime. Then you’ll have all three of us. Me. Tim. And Dick.”

Jason must see the way Bruce shudders at the mention of Dick because he snickers. “You miss Dick? Is that why you and Tim were fucking in his bed? So you can smell him while little Timmy ploughed your ass?”

Bruce sobs at Jason’s words just as the alpha pushes a finger past the omega’s swollen and wet rim. 

“Shit, you’re so _ soaked _, Bruce,” the alpha says in amazement. “And you smell so sweet,” he whispers, curling his thick finger so it brushes against the omega’s walls. 

“The first time I smelled you in that training room, I couldn’t believe it. How easily you got wet for me. I was gonna fuck you right there and then if Dick hadn’t walked in, and if you hadn’t run away, all three of us could have had some fun.”

Bruce sobs again because that’s exactly what Bruce had imagined—Dick and Jason fucking him on those mats. Bruce can’t find any words. Jason adds another finger.

“Would you have liked that, Bruce? If Dick and I fucked you in the training room?”

Bruce nods, but that’s must not what Jason wanted because a sharp slap to his ass has him yelping in surprise. 

“Words, Bruce. When I ask you something, I want to hear your reply.”

“Yes!” Bruce gasps, fisting the sheets in his hands. His entire body is shaking with anticipation. 

Jason mutters something low under his breath before adding another fingers and _ stretching _them.

“You don’t...don’t need to,” Bruce pants. “Just fuck me, my body can take it, please.”

Jason presses a kiss to his ass, right where he had slapped it a second ago. “If I don’t stretch you properly, my knot is gonna split you in half. You know that.”

Bruce shakes his head because _ no, he’s never been knotted _ , but if he doesn’t get Jason’s cock in him as soon as possible, he’s going to literally combust. Shit, it’s so fucking _ hot _ , and where is Dick? _ Where the fuck is Dick? _ Why won’t—

All of a sudden, Jason is shushing him, his free hand running comforting circles across the small of his back which fortunately quiets Bruce’s thoughts.

“You’ve never been knotted before?”

His voice is tight, and Bruce can’t decipher the emotion behind them. 

It takes Bruce a minute to register that he had spoken his thoughts aloud. When his heat breaks, he’s going to be so embarrassed. 

“Never,” Bruce affirms. 

A fourth finger is added, and Bruce moans. 

“Good,” is all Jason says, curling his fingers one more time right against Bruce’s prostate, and the omega’s orgasm takes him by surprise. He sees _ stars _.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> where the hell is Dick? I don't even know. 
> 
> Drop the comments down below. I know Jason must have a filthy mouth, but I have no idea how to write dirty talk so bear with me. Thanks for reading! Sorry for leaving on kind of a cliff hanger :(
> 
> ....more anticipation 
> 
> (give me some good ideas for what kind of sexy things you guys want to see in these upcoming chapters)


	17. Let it rain on me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's just sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. Long time, no see. There are a variety of reasons that it took me a month+ to post, and why this chapter is much shorter than I wanted. It was supposed to be twice as long, but I think it would have taken me another week or so to find the time to get it to the length I wanted. But please read the rest of what I want to say. 
> 
> 1) I'm currently taking 2 summer classes, so those have been my priority, which really only gives me the weekend to write. Classes are almost over but then final exams are coming up, and then I will be free for some time. 
> 
> 2) I assume I have readers who live in a variety of places, but if you guys haven't guessed already, I live in the United States, particularly in a city that where *one of the tragic killings of an unarmed black person has taken place. As a black woman (surprise) during this time and the resurgence of the Black Lives Matter movement and a national discussion of race, systemic racism, and police brutality, it's been exhausting and refreshing at the same time. I am so glad these discussions are taking place and it seem that actions will also be taken place. However, I am exhausted at having to have this type of discussion yet again, especially with people who have never had to carefully consider race and racism in their lifetime--a privilege. 
> 
> I remember being a young child watching the verdict of the Trayvon Martin case, feeling disappointed but not understanding the serious implications of such a verdict and not realizing the racial undertones surrounding the case. It was Michael Brown, Tamir Rice, Philando Castile, Sandra Bland, and dozen of others that had me realizing and fully understanding the type system that was established in this country, a system that did not value and did not fight for black lives. It was and is terrifying. 
> 
> And now, we are here. With George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Rayshard Brooks, and more. Countless of protests have been held in my city and more. People are demanding change, and I love to see it, but we will see where it takes us. I hate to say it, but I feel like this time next year, it will be another name. That won't stop me from hoping. The week following George Floyd's murder, I stayed wide awake at night, listening to the helicopters circling my city. Looting and rioting had spiked, some people trying to take advantage of tragic situation and others so upset they thought they could only resort to violence. It was exhausting and saddening. But as I said, I continue to hope, spread information and awareness, donate, and sign petitions. 
> 
> If you don't agree with me, I don't care. This is my reality as a black woman in America. Please don't make these comments a political debate, thank you.
> 
> I hope you still enjoy this *short chapter!!!

Bruce doesn’t even realize he’s crying until Jason is wiping his face dry and is whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

Bruce doesn’t even want to think about how pathetic that is. But he’s not even capable of such thought because Jason is kissing his cheek, and his brain just  _ stops _ . His kisses move to his neck, pressing sweetly to his mating glands, before moving to his shoulder and along his spine. 

Bruce drops to his forearms, arching his back and presenting for Jason. Jason goes quiet for a minute, and Bruce squirms at the silence, knowing that Jason is looking,  _ staring _ . 

“Jason, please—”

“Turn over for me.”

Bruce does so without a second thought, immediately flushing at how exposed and vulnerable he feels laid out beneath the alpha and his gaze. Bruce cannot help but let his eyes wander to the bulge in Jason’s pants, toes curling in anticipation. 

Jason reaches for a pillow, lifting up Bruce’s hips and sliding it under. Jason slides off his pants, and Bruce’s mouth goes dry at the sight of the alpha’s cock, long, thick, flushed with arousal, and knot already forming at the base. 

Bruce lets his legs fall wide open, and Jason immediately throws an ankle over his shoulder, the head of his cock pressing insistently at his hole. 

“A-Alpha please,” Bruce whimpers, reaching blindly for Jason, nerves easing when his former robin takes his hand in his own. 

Jason presses forward, cock sliding through that tight ring of muscles of Bruce’s hole. Bruce’s breath gets caught in his throat at the stretch. 

Not even half way in, Jason curses. “Fuck, you’re so wet and warm inside, Bruce.”

Bruce automatically clenches down at the sound of his alpha’s voice, rough and so obviously filled with pleasure. Jason presses down even further, and Bruce gasps when the alpha finally bottoms out, the sense of fullness reaching its peak. 

Jason stills, and only the sound of heavy breathing fills the room. Bruce’s eyes fall shut, his senses overwhelmed. He feels stretched impossibly wide, and everything is so hot, but Jason’s touch is cooling. The contrast of the two sensations is maddening; he needed more of Jason. 

“Look at me,” Jasons says, but Bruce shakes his head in defiance. Everything is too much. He just needs Jason to  _ move. _

“Look at me, Bruce—”

“God, please just—”

A strong hand, neither pressing nor suffocating, to the base of his throat has him shutting up. 

“Be good for me, Bruce,” Jason says calmly, “Let me see those pretty blue eyes of yours.”

Bruce relents, and he can’t but help to squirm when he meets Jason’s dark gaze. Then, the Alpha  _ finally  _ moves, pulling out slowly before snapping forward with a powerful thrust of his hips. 

“Uh,” Bruce quietly gasps.

Jason pulls back and snaps forward again and again, the strength of his thrusts knocking the breath from Bruce’s lungs. Bruce has to blink back another onslaught of tears because it’s both  _ too much  _ and _ not enough _ . 

“Jason, please—,” Bruce tries to plead before his voice breaks.

Jason chuckles, and Bruce hates how he can still look so composed while Bruce can barely form a coherent thought. 

“What do you need?” he drawls, “What do you want, Bruce?”

_ Faster _ Bruce thinks. The mind-numbingly slow and steady pace that Jason had set had the omega pawing at the sheets with his free hand. He can’t vocalize his thoughts though, especially when Jason leans forward over him, nearly bending him in half and reaching even deeper inside him. 

“Is it my knot, you want?” Jason whispers right against Bruce’s ear. 

And all Bruce can do is nod, and he is glad that Jason doesn’t pressure him for a verbal response because all the omega can do now is let out choked moans as his alpha continues to fuck him in earnest. 

“You want me to fill you up?” Jason continues, making Bruce wish he could hide his face because he cannot cover up the fact how nice that sounds to him, how much he wants it and enjoys it. 

“Yes,” Bruce whines. He hadn’t been shy with Tim about how he needed to be filled, and he still needs it from Jason too. 

Jason stands back straight up, letting go off Bruce’s hand and letting his ankle slip from his shoulder. Bruce drinks in the sight of the alpha, chest and abdominal muscles glistened in a nice sheen of sweat and cheeks slightly flushed. 

“Turn over,” Jason gently commands, and Bruce doesn’t waste a second, flipping over onto his knees and forearms, back perfectly arched. 

Jason enters him again swiftly, and Bruce mewls when the alpha’s large cock slides in deeper, hitting different places at the new angle. 

“I’ll give you what you want, B. I’ll knot you so good, and fill you up so nicely,” Jason growls. “You would like that, don’t you? Want me to get you pregnant?”

Bruce seizes. _ Pregnant? _ He hadn’t even given it a thought, and now he feels stupid because he’s been letting Tim and now Jason fuck him without any sort of protection, and he’s been off his birth control for a couple of weeks. 

Bruce thinks back to his one night in the hotel before the Yathean disguised as Dick had tricked him and stolen him away. He had thought about getting pregnant then too, and he blames his inherent “biological clock” and those pesky omega instincts that yearn for a child. He thought he had squashed it when he had adopted Dick, Jason, and Tim, but he supposes his body will never be satisfied until he’s actually full and round with child. 

Bruce banishes those thoughts from his mind because this is probably just dirty talk to the Alpha, nothing more. 

However, he can’t help but squirm at those words. 

“ _ Yes _ ,” he gasps. Another whine escaping him when he feels a strange tugging at his hole and the sensation of being stretched even wider.  _ Shit _ , Jason is starting to knot.

Two hands grip Bruce’s waist in an almost bruising hold. “That’s what you want? You want me to knock you up? You want to carry my pups?”

Bruce presses his hips back, attempting to coax the knot to form faster. “I want it, Alpha.  _ Please _ .”

With a vicious growl, Jason begins to accelerate his thrusting, the sound of skin slapping and the squelch of Bruce’s wetness filling the room. The omega wonders where Tim is, wonders if the beta can hear the sound of his cries and Jason and his mating. 

Jason’s knot begins to catch at his rim, and the pressure is so great and beautiful that Bruce’s orgasm takes him by surprise. He would have collapsed on his side if Jason wasn’t suddenly scooping him in his arms and maneuvering him to his side in the middle of the bed. 

Jason settles behind the omega, still shallowly thrusting. Bruce’s whole body falls lax as the alpha nears and finally reaches his own climax. Bruce bears his throat, tempting the alpha to lay a claiming bite, and Bruce shivers in anticipation when he feels Jason’s canines ghost over the sensitive, swollen skin of his mating gland. 

However, the teeth are quickly replaced with a soft kiss, and Bruce wants to complain, but it quickly dies in his throat because he’s clenching down on the knot and it’s everything he needed. He can still feel Jason emptying into him, and it’s  _ a lot _ , and he knows that’s going to make a big mess, but he wouldn’t want it any way else. 

Bruce softly sighs, the heat finally quieted and not blazing like before. 

Jason curls around him, wrapping a strong arm around his waist and pulling Bruce tight against his chest. Bruce feels his eyelids droop, body ready to fall asleep again after feeling satisfied and knotted. 

“Get some rest, Bruce. We’ll talk when you are up.”

He’s out a second later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, we will briefly take a break from the sex to get some plot----like where the hell Dick is and shit like that. Thanks for reading and bearing with me.


End file.
